


Dopamine

by GhostPen1997



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Porn, Bondage, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Caretaker John Watson, Detectives, Drug Addict Sherlock, Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Murder Mystery, Original Character(s), Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock is a Brat, Sub Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-08-24 12:31:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 38,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16640159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostPen1997/pseuds/GhostPen1997
Summary: Set somewhere in a muddled time line of the TV universe, where the final episode of season 4 happened but season 3 did not? There will be references to episodes when they'd become relevant, I always wondered what would would happen if the boys had some proper 'muscle' on their side- Sherlock has relapsed, and in the wake of his withdrawal he discovers certain things that may have been repressed; there will be subplot mysteries as well as porn and feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be lenghty. All my stuff is long and Angsty lol

“She’s doing better” Rose commented from where she was peering over Sherlock’s shoulder, she’d been watching from a few paces back for 13 minutes, he didn’t mind her presence, though, so he’d allowed it- John had also been trying to monitor what he’d been doing, but he was less proactive and had been perched on his chair, pretending to not know that Sherlock was watching the same clip of Eurus’ on repeat, since he’d arrived around an hour ago. Sherlock raised his brow, turning to look at the brunette carefully, “How do you know?” he didn’t particularly like asking, but he couldn’t deny that Rose was a reliable resource of information regarding most things -She rolled her eyes, “She’s telling you” she nodded to the footage before turning back to the kitchen, “She doesn’t bloody speak” John argued then, his agitation barely hidden, “She never stops speaking” Rose countered easily, the pitch in her voice reminded him of Sherlock, of the way they both seem fed up with people commenting on what should be plainly visible. “She’s right, none of you listen” Sherlock looked a little offended at that, but she groaned, practically jumping over to him again, he moved his hands as she reached down quickly, unmuting the footage, soft violin music began to spill from the speakers, Sherlock grinned suddenly, feeling himself fill with understanding “Of course” he muttered, turning urgently to where the woman behind him was once again looking distractedly at the fridge, “You can understand her? _the code? In the music?”_ Rose looked at him disappointed. _he didn’t like that._ “It’s not a code” she turned away completely as Sherlock frowned, “ _Well what else could it be_ ” he muttered, disgruntled as his previous revelation crumbled “A conversation” she answered flatly, “a very repetitive one, that you’ve been watching on a loop for-” she paused, glancing at her phone, “almost 8 hours” Sherlock slumped down, waving her away with a flick of his wrist, “How do you know?” John asked, a vague hint of compliment in his voice, as he stood, walking over to her side, Rose was stood over a pan now, staring at the contents impatiently, “ _how can you understand her?_ I mean” Rose laughed, holding out a spoon for him to taste, he didn’t fight her, “More salt?” she checked, he nodded, not knowing how she’d read that report from his features, “I’m clever” she reminded him absentmindedly, seasoning the liquid that was quickly thickening under her consideration, “I’m clever” Sherlock shouted, not even bothering to look from the screen, she hummed, not arguing, “I’ve had more practice” she said with a smile, swatting John away as she poured stew into three bowls that were waiting on the counter. Sherlock stood bolt straight at that, his eyes shining, t _his was new information-_ “What? _What practice?_ ” Rose shook her head looking down at the dinner she’d prepared, “Eat” she commanded taking her own serving and walking over to the sofa, Sherlock looked like he wanted to argue, but he quickly thought better of it, taking a different approach as he grabbed cutlery and followed John back into the lounge, stopping in his previous position, “If I eat, will you answer me?” Rose sighed, uninterested, when Sherlock continued to stare at her with piercing blue eyes, she tilted her head as the minutes began to pass and he still haven’t broken his gaze, “ _Sherlock_ , I’ll tell you anyway- but you’re hungry” She could see the slight shake in his hands giving him away, she expected he was aware of how she’d made her deduction, as he steadied them, almost ignoring her completely as he began to feed himself. “Mycroft’s been watching her for years- _she’s always played_ ” she reminded him gently, the video was muted again now. “So you’ve met her?” Sherlock asked seriously, turning to watch her face, “Not exactly” she hummed, he watched her chest, looking for the flush of red that gave her away any time she was dishonest, she laughed when she caught him, the noise seemed to make the food easier for his body to tolerate. “Jim met her” she clarified, as he averted his eyes politely, they’d both noticed that John had stopped eating to listen, “I’ll put less chilli in next time” she assured him, noting the way the doctor was pursing his lips unhappily, “ _No, no it’s_ -” he went to object, stopping himself when he knew there was no point in lying, Sherlock was looking at him with a raised brow, “how did you know?” he surrendered, she chuckled again, like she was going to tell him that he didn’t really want to know, “Your mouth” Sherlock answered quickly, before turning to her again, “ _You met Moriarty_?” he asked her, she sat forward, “ _Obviously_ , I’m your brother’s consultant, remember” Sherlock groaned, “ _anyway_ \- I’m sure if you ask him, he’ll send you those tapes as well- I wouldn’t call him tonight though, he’s indisposed” Sherlock hummed in agreement, “ _Angela_?” he checked they’d come to the same conclusion from the change in his brother’s shoes. She nodded, _distracted._ The observation faded from Sherlock’s view as she got up to move, “I don’t know how it’s possible” John grumbled, Rose looked at him curiously, “There’s bloody two of you- and somehow I end up in a flat with you both” Sherlock laughed then, it was false, she could tell from the crease in his brow, she dismissed it, _not_ _relevant. “_ You should call Harry” she advised suddenly, taking his bowl from his hands, “since we’re on the subject of sisters” Sherlock muttered something but she tuned it out, “you have about 3 minutes until she’s going to have a double whiskey” John swallowed his discontent as Sherlock piped up, “ _Vodka_ ” he countered, looking at John for confirmation, the shorter man bristled as he stood up,“ _Both wrong I’m afraid-_ she likes wine” he began to leave, “Not tonight she doesn’t” Rose mumbled, he ignored her, closing the door as he went outside to make his call. 

“Whiskey?” Sherlock asked, Rose shrugged, “Yesterday, when she called John, she’d been to the-” Sherlock unmuted the video, “Left isle is vodka” he muttered petulantly, “No” she placed a hand on the screen over the moving image of a violin, “ _Right_ is Vodka” he slammed his laptop closed angrily, the change was sudden but not unexpected, “We’ll never know” she soothed, it made him worse- it had only had a 35% chance of being successful in alleviating the tension, so she wasn’t overly surprised when he smashed his dirty plate on the ground. “I’m not cleaning that up” she told him calmly, “and neither is Mrs Hudson” she could feel him trying to argue, but she ignored him completely, letting him shout as she rinsed her glass. “Are you even listening to me?!” He yelled when she eventually turned to watch him again, “what do you think?” she taunted, not her best move, “You’re being childish” she told him, her voice a little softer than before, his mouth parted, like he was going to form a rebuttal, but John swung the door open, “Your timing is clearly off” he told Rose, she considered him briefly before offering him an apologetic nod, “ _So_?” Sherlock demanded, “ _Which was it?_ Vodka or Whiskey?” Rose rolled her eyes, “Jesus, Sherlock” she scolded. “Both” John grunted before disappearing, slamming the door to his room. Sherlock seemed pleased with that, “Must’ve had a row with Lucy” Rose decided, “Cats or Dinner?” she asked, trying to offer him something to ease his rage. “Children. Obviously” he almost spat. Rose hummed, “it bothers you, doesn’t it” Rose said, she’d waited until the detective had settled back in his chair, his eyes back on the screen, “That you don’t know everything about what hap-” he snorted, his leg bouncing, “How observant of you” he mocked, muting and unmuting the clip, “you could try asking” she suggested, not bothering to watch him, “I don’t-” he began, she felt herself roll her eyes, “ _Of course you don’t,_ \- it doesn’t matter anyway, I’m going out” she told him, walking over to grab her coat. Sherlock looked at her suspiciously, “No you’re not” - _She had no prior plans to leave, he looked at her outfit, black, always black, cotton, denim, non-formal, no friends in town-_ “Watch me” she grinned, pulling on a leather jacket. “Have a good night Sherlock” she said, turning away, “Try not to overdose” she gave a nod towards the skull on the mantle. Panic struck him suddenly, he reached out to grab her wrist. _New_. She looked at him curiously as she felt his pulse increasing through his fingertips. he hadn’t moved other to contort himself in his seat, his whole upper body had twisted to capture her, _involuntary reaction._ “I’m not going to tell Myrcroft” she promised quietly, assuming that was the cause for his sudden concern - “ _Or_ John” she added with a roll of her eyes, he released her, straightening out, and smoothing his shirt, “I don’t know what you’re talking about” he lied, his eyes flicked back to his monitor, but his torso remained uneasily positioned. He knew lying to her was a little bit pointless, but he thought it was worth a try all the same. She laughed quietly, moving swiftly to pull his sleeve up past his elbow, strangely the sound calmed him and he found himself allowing her to do so, spinning the chair to face her completely as she finally exposed the both the faded and more recent track marks. She released him kindly, letting him snatch his arm away. “You should try the other side; those veins aren’t going to last much longer” there’s an emptiness in her voice that Sherlock doesn’t like. He suddenly felt defensive, she reads it in his posture, and offers him a calm smile as he tries in vain to hide it. _“I know what I’m doing_ ” he replied after a pause, it’s clear that he’s trying to mimic her monotone infliction. “I’m sure” she agreed, not completely hiding the bitterness in her tone “ I expect my advice is also a little irrelevant- someone as experienced as yourself would never just use the one arm- _though, I suppose everyone has a favourite_ …” her voice trailed off, he let her words settle, hanging in the air, he didn’t know quite how to respond, he’d been caught, and he couldn’t deny that he’d felt a little relieved at the confirmation, _the clarification_ , there was no uncertainty, that was _pleasant_ , if nothing else,“How long have you? - he tried to ask, she shook her head, her hand on the door handle. “ _Swimming pool_ ” was all she replied, that was enough. She’d known since he’d first relapsed- _of course she had_. As the door closed behind her, he recalled a conversation from when they’d first met, 

_“I’m not here to spy on you for Mycroft” she tells him, bored, he can see her shape moving in the kitchen, but he can’t read her body language, “why would I think that?” he asks, she laughs then, her head emerging from the doorway to look him up and down, she doesn’t even humour him with response. They both know already. She’s clever, he decides. “anyway” she adds, “it doesn’t matter, because I’m not here to relay information- whatever you may or may not, be doing is irrelevant” Sherlock feels his spine bristle, and tries to take a slow breath to offset the physical signs of discomfort “I’m clean” he offers her calmly, she hums, disinterested, “I am” he insists, she laughs then, “I believe you” she assures him, seeing his clear distress, he seems pleased with that, he is telling the truth, though his desire to prove that to her is telling- “It is opioids though, isn’t it?” she clarifies plainly, turning back to her previous task of reorganising the knife draw when he gives her a nod. “I expect there’s some cocaine or similar stimulant use too- but I can’t see that being worthy of a hiding spot”_

When he came back to himself, she was gone, and he was staring at the closed wooden door with a strange sense of longing that he couldn’t quite shake.


	2. Chapter 2

“Good Morning Boys” Rose announced, her voice was cheery, if a little faded, Sherlock looked outside to see the weather was damp and sky was clouded. Natural tremors, light clothing, only one jacket. “You’re cold” he observed, not bothering to watch her as she wondered into kitchen, “A little obvious Sherlock” John laughed, reaching out to pull her into a welcoming embrace, “I’ll allow it” she hummed as he released her, she found that she was already bored of the interaction, “-I don’t think he got much sleep-” as her challenging gaze met Sherlock’s she found that she was correct, his eyes were hallowed with navy, and although he seemed to be alert- almost bouncing on the spot, she watched for a moment, and realised that she could see him trying to still the shaking that was quite visible in his right hand. “took my advice then” she muttered despite herself. Sherlock’s expression changed instantly and she knew that she’d made one observation too many- John looked over, his face mildly questioning, so she stepped in, altering her tone -“the books” she explains with a careless nod in the direction of their shelving, she felt happier then, when Sherlock exhaled, shifting back into his previous state, she continued to stare for a little while longer as he muttered a comment of agreement regarding the new categorisation- they’d changed it 2 days ago now, but since John hadn’t been anywhere near it, he clearly hadn’t noticed that the alteration hadn’t been recent- She tuned both of the men out then, focusing on the sound of the coffee maker and the ticking of the clock, she felt her hand’s move absentmindedly, collecting pottery and cleaning clutter- she pursed her lips considering how long she’d have, 4 minutes. “What was that?” John asked suddenly, snapping her back to the moment, he was behind her again, she could feel the heat from his body. She hummed in questioning, looking down at the mugs that she’d set up, there where three, one had 6 white sugar cubes, one already had milk and the other was empty, she pushed the empty one away, she wouldn’t have time for hers. “You said four?” John pressed as he accepted the milky coffee she offered, she shrugged dismissively, knowing he wouldn’t push, he was used to oddities by now and rarely bothered to force a reply. She considered the cup she’d prepared for Sherlock and quickly reached into the bottom drawer by the sink, she heard John’s footsteps in the lounge and pulled out 2 white pills, turning them gently in her fingers before dropping them into the brew, stirring the liquid with a spoon as they dissolved slowly. She wondered over, pretending to look at the wallpaper as she came to a stop on the arm of Sherlock’s chair. He raised a brow at the fizzing that was present in his drink “For the shaking” she muttered quietly, John was still speaking- hadn’t even noticed the interaction as Sherlock accepted the beverage, drinking it quickly with a disgruntled expression. “There was lots of sugar in there” John nodded at Sherlock, he hummed, “Yes, well, as Rose observed, I didn’t get much sleep” She tuned out again as she blinked at the yellow spray paint dripping down the wall paper, “Eurus?” Watson guessed, Sherlock gave him a dishonest nod, and began prattling on about a case Rose knew he’d already solved. It was only when her phone went off that the room was silenced. A low erotic moan accompanied the buzz from her pocket. She smiled wide and interested then, grabbing the device swiftly as John’s face filled with recognition? Disbelief? Fear? His features settled on the latter as she looked at the clock. 5 minutes had passed. “your brother’s late” she addressed Sherlock, as she let her eyes focus on his, she read something odd in his expression as well- concern?, before she could consider the source of the shift, John was behind her tapping her shoulder, she realised he’d been speaking for some time “Rose?!” he demanded urgently, Sherlock smirked as he nodded towards the shorter man, signalling for her to reply, “What?” she turned to face the doctor, “I wasn’t listening” she told him honestly, Sherlock snorted a laugh behind him, “She’s dead!” he demanded, she turned to look at Sherlock again, this time prompting him to speak, “Not exactly” he admitted, John turned his attention to the detective then, and she muted their voices as she looked out of the window, just in time to see Mycroft ducking under an umbrella. She sighed, “what the bloody hell is Irene Adler doing texting you?” John said his voice thick with accusation, Rose smirked as she realised he was addressing Sherlock directly, the dark-haired man looked unamused as he considered John’s words. “She’s not” Rose explained, deciding to offer a little clarity “She’s texting me” his jaw was agape as she spun on her heels again, just in time for the door to their flat to swing open. “You’re late” she greeted, already taking the umbrella from his hands. Mycroft straightened himself, shaking the droplets of water from his shoulders as he spoke, “My apologies-” “Will someone please tell me what the bloody hell is going on!?” John’s voice almost cracked as he yelled his demand. Rose retuned to the room calmly, placing a metal bin on the ground in front of Mycroft, “Oh, I think that’s quite clear John” Sherlock chided, looking at his brother with distrust- “My brother requires his consultant” he looked over where Rose was being passed a collection of papers, he saw her eyes flicking, moving quickly but in a motion, -pictures- he watched her brows widen, and then fold to form a crease- shock? Unpleasant content. “That’s all of them?” She checked, looking up at Mycroft, he gave her a sharp nod in response. She returned it before moving quickly dropping the photographs into the bucket she’d prepared, reaching for the matches in her pocket - “No” Sherlock hissed angrily, watching the match Rose had struck fall and burst into flames, eradicating the contents of the container, the images where burning quickly, must’ve been good ink. “What, brother?” Mycroft said smugly, “As you so correctly observed, I am here with a case for my, consultant- And she has obviously seen what she feels is necessary-” Sherlock groaned loudly, turning to stare at John, half for support, half for distraction- all he could tell was that the doctor looked displeased, his lower lip was pouting petulantly and his arms where folded across his chest. “Oh, come on John” he grumbled then, deciding he was clearly still bothered by the news of the woman’s resurrection “Of course she’s alive” John seemed like he was going to burst with rage, but before he could open his mouth to spit a response, there was another loud moan. Rose seemed to hear it, though her head only appeared from the kitchen doorway to nod at Sherlock, “One of you read them to me” John snorted, “You can do that yourself” he muttered, ignoring how the younger Hole’s brother was already holding her mobile. “I am busy- now please” there was a grunt of acceptance as John found the device in his hands, he looked up in disbelief, but quickly realised that he wasn’t actually shocked at all as Sherlock sulked back down in his chair, waiting for him to obey her command, “John” she pressed, “For god’s sake fine” he conceded, tapping to open the messages, “shit okay, the first one is last night around 2, ‘I think I prefer you to Sherlock- Lets have dinner’” he paused to see if there was a hint of emotion visible on Sherlock’s face. There was not. “Then there’s again at 3 ‘I bet you taste great – let’s have dinner’” he looked over at the kitchen as he heard a clash, “Then today, before Mycroft arrived, ‘Do you like the photos?- Let’s have dinner” She emerged then, holding a small bag of white powder. Sherlock’s brows raised, but she smiled at Mycroft instead of acknowledging him, or how she’d found the small bag of cocaine that he’d berried in an old bag of rice. “Late” she muttered, pressing her elbow against the stoic man with a tint of humour, he was about to open his mouth to relay his apologies when John spoke again, his voice was a little more concerned this time, “Then just now, ‘Downstairs, 6 minutes- Lets have dinner’” Rose nodded like she’d been expecting as much, “When exactly was that sent?” Sherlock checked, “1 minute ago” John reported, running a hand through his hair, “Right then, there we are, Rose-” Mycroft exhaled, “You best get ready” She rolled her eyes, disappearing silently “For what?” John countered, “That is none of your concern, Dr. Watson” he answered firmly, as Sherlock rose to his feet Mycroft met his eyes, “Nor is it any of yours, Sherlock- I assure you that Rose is aptly equipped to-” Sherlock continued to walk, pressing his older sibling against the wall, John moved to intervene, but found himself staying a safe distance, “To do what, exactly” Mycroft blushed, a clear flush of uncharacteristic red filling his cheeks as he straightened his tie. “To do her job” he replied evasively, Sherlock moved quickly, slamming his fist loudly into the wall above Mycroft’s head, he shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, but didn’t make to move- “and what exactly is that?” John asked, from where he was waiting to diffuse a fight, should one erupt. “Whatever is required to solve the case at hand-” Sherlock almost growled then. “Say it, Mycroft” he ordered, “Sherlock” the older man cautioned, but with the way his body was being held captive, he couldn’t manage to make it as intimidating as he’d intended. “Now, go on- tell him what you-” Sherlock insisted. “Really” John complained, “Someone needs to tell me exactly what the bloody hell is going on!” Sherlock laughed loudly then, it’s a cold noise that doesn’t settle into the atmosphere, but he shifts, backing away from the wall- “Let’s start with the mundane then-” he began, “Irene Adler is alive and well, well enough to have bothered my brother with what I can only assume are more photographs that comprise national security, he has then obviously decided that I am no longer his first choice- Yes, good, fine, but-” “-You were not my first choice, the last time either brother, but Rose was undisposed-” Mycroft countered, adjusting himself to no longer being under physical duress, “Oh yes” Sherlock said “With James Moriarty” he can’t contain the smugness in voice as he exhales, relishing in taking his brother completely off guard, however the shock in Mycroft’s face was short lived “The work she did regarding the Moriarty situation is quite frankly, irrelevant, Sherlock” he replied, a false calm filling his features, “Wait,” John sighed “What the hell does Moriarty have to do with this” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Do try to keep up John-” his eyes where narrowing in accusation as he focused on Mycroft again but before any more words could be exchanged, Rose walked back into the room, completely naked, her body almost glowing in the light flowing from the window, she seemed to not even notice the lack of clothing as she continued to wonder round, collecting various things and rearranging them. John couldn’t take his eyes away from the soft curve of her body, he was watching the rise and fall of her chest when his brain finally snapped back to the reality of the situation- “You cannot be serious” he decided at last, “Even for you Mycroft that is-” Sherlock smiled smugly at the judgmental tone of his friend, “Now you’re getting it” he complimented, “Sherlock” Mycroft cautioned again, “Oh come on Mycroft” he purred in response, “do tell us just how long you’ve been whoring out your employees-”  
Rose spoke then, swinging round to look at Sherlock angrily “I didn’t think of you as someone with a particularly strong moral code” she snapped, tilting her head towards the empty space on the mantle where the skull had stood once before, “And are you really, calling me a whore?” she asked him firmly, her body coming to stand between her boss and her friend, Sherlock looked uncharacteristically apologetic as he regarded her, his demeanour changing as he tried his best to quell his temper “No, but I-” he half conceded. She gave him a strange look then, it served to silence him “I have a case to solve” she told him sternly, “I do recall you once becoming a heroine addict to close one of your own” she was making strong eye contact then, “-and not that I am, but if I was going to sleep my way to the truth, I’d say the consequences would be significantly less severe” Sherlock blinked, utterly speachless, John’s mouth hung open for a second, he didn’t know wether to applaud her ability to stun the man into silence, or scold her for her harshness, so he settled on neither, “Look Rose-” John said strangely, he was uncomfortable, she could tell by his stance, she could read it in the way his legs where shifting millimetres on the wooden floor. “We’re just concerned-” Rose laughed then, it was a natural, warm sound that Sherlock found himself focusing on, “Do I appear to be under duress?” she pressed, “No, but you’re naked, holding cocaine and about to leave to an undisclosed address with a known sociopath-” Rose sighed then, smiling “-that sounds like the start of a wonderful night” Sherlock chuckled then, despite himself, at the ridiculous nature of their situation, John huffed angrily, not comprehending how people so intelligent could possibly be so childish- “John” she cut him off, extending a hand to his shoulder, “-I am more than happy to take this case, I am fully aware of what it may involve, and I am consenting to participate in whatever is required to bring this to a speedy end-” he opened his mouth to argue, but she continued “-don’t think of it as a job, if it makes it anymore agreeable to you” he laughed, exhausted, “Then what should I think of it as?” Rose straightened up, her eyes flicking between Mycroft and Sherlock- “Me doing a favour for someone I care about” she looked at the clock on the wall. “Right then” Mycroft finished, “Off you go-” Rose moved in, risking a hug to John, deciding that the discomfort he was feeling at her nudity was important than the reassurance he usually gained from her touch, it proved to be mildly successful, he released her with only a minor shift in his posture, she smiled at Sherlock, letting him move in to hug her, she was almost shocked when he did, wrapping his arm around her back loosely before allowing her to part. She dipped out, under Mycroft’s arms, “When should I expect? -” he went to shout down the hallway after her, she paused, making a mental assessment “I’ll need to see the pictures again, tomorrow at 3pm, you can meet me at her location and I’ll have everything you’re expecting” Mycroft hummed in acceptance as she disappeared from view with a final wave of her hand.


	3. Chapter 3

“Cut the shit, Mycroft” John ordered once the door had slammed shut, sealing them all inside, “I am not going to deal with Sherlock sulking around this flat all night, especially, now Rose isn’t here to buffer, or distract him, so can you please just answer his bloody questions?” He let himself fall down into the sofa, resigned to the fact that he was about to be completely neglected in the discussion he was hoping to initiate. To his surprise, Mycroft paced the floor slowly, curling his nose up at the clutter before perching on Sherlock’s stool, letting his little brother loom over him, “Go on then Sherlock, do try and make it quick- I have a meeting with-” “Angela?” the detective snorted passively, “The prime minister” Mycroft corrected calmly. Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, “What did Rose do, exactly, with Moriarty? What did her role entail?” he decided finally, “All manner of things I would expect” his brother answered, “She was assigned to him for several months” Sherlock raised a brow, “Several?” he asked, Mycroft sighed with irritation, “9 months Sherlock” he stopped to straighten his tie, “and during that time she was permitted to use any and all means available at her disposal to extract information and minimise the threat at hand-” John sat up, running his hands down his slacks, “and that involved sex?” Mycroft rolled his eyes, not even bothering to turn to face the man as he replied, “I don’t know exactly what it involved, Dr. Watson, I did not watch her every move, what I do know, with a great deal of certainty is that nobody forced her to do anything, and whatever techniques she chose to indulge where very effective-” Sherlock snorted, he was stood now, idly stabbing a knife down into the wood, “-she was” Mycroft insisted, “In fact-” he goaded, “It almost entirely down to her efforts that both of you escaped that swimming pool in one piece” the rhythmic sound of the knife colliding with the harsh surface stops. “Don’t” John warned carefully, advising the man to not push his luck. Mycroft raised his hands innocently, “I am merely informing you, that she was a very useful asset- and that is how she remained, until she no longer wished to continue with her involvement, at which time, she-” “-Discontinued it” Sherlock finished on his behalf, he hated to admit it, even to himself, but he knew his brother was being honest. “Yes, Yes” Sherlock exhaled, “What does that have to do with Ersus?” he pressed, Mycroft shifted uncomfortably at the mention of her name, he found Sherlock’s gaze unwavering, so he looked over to John, disappointed when he found it similar in it’s intensity, “During Moriarty’s first visit to our facility, Rose was accompanying him, of course, she had been familiar with our sister for some time, by then- I’d always kept a close eye on her activities- When I told her that Ersus had requested the time alone with Moriarty she begged, pleaded, with me, to deny her- she told me that she was planning something, she kept repeating some drabble to do with the violin” Sherlock scrunched eyes closed, a burning pain in his temple, “Well” Mycroft coughed, avoiding John deliberately now, “I thought it was drabble- when I told her that I had every intention of delivering our sister what she had requested, Rose tried to convince me to involve you-” he looked at Sherlock with something that almost resembled shame. “- I’d previously commented on the similarity between your thinking patterns, your capabilities, so she theorised that perhaps you’d be able to hear the messages too- I tried to explain to her the impossibility of that, but she didn’t really understand-” Sherlock through the knife clear across the room, it impaled itself above John’s head with a loud crack, “Jesus Sherlock” the doctor hissed, Sherlock didn’t hear him, he was focused on Mycroft, his veins thrumming with rage, “it was not impossible” the older man blinked, averting his eyes, “we know that now” he admitted, “at the time- well, I tried to use the red beard case to explain it, to deter her, but she solved it in just under-” he paused then, realising that he might have gone too far with his revelation- Sherlock was gripping the fireplace now, his knuckles turning white, “How long?” he growled, when nobody answered, he shouted, “How long did it take her Mycroft!?” the older Holmes brother flinched, “3 hours. The last 20 minutes passed quickly, after I told her the song” John let his head roll back onto the leather, “dear god” he rubbed his eyes, “And you still didn’t listen” Sherlock said, his voice dripping with anger, “No” Mycroft agreed, “I did not- I told her that she was wrong, and that if she was to encounter you, she was to make no mention of our sister- I told her that Eurus was simply playing the violin, and that the compositions of a mad woman should be disregarded-” Sherlock blinked, “She is our sister” he hissed, Mycroft nodded in agreement, “So she is” he straightened his shirt. “That is one of my only regrets” he said solemnly, “not heeding her advice- I assure you, it is not a mistake that I intend to make again.” There was silence then, the three men sat still, breathing quietly, avoiding each others gaze until Sherlock moved to speak, “so can you hear it?” he asked through gritted teeth, Mycroft blinked, like he was waking from a dream, “No” he replied, almost sadly, “I’m afraid I just hear music” he stood, dusting his shirt pants as he came face to face with his brother, “Can you?” he pressed, Sherlock looked away, frustrated before giving a shake of his head, “Well don’t despair, she seemed to be certain- perhaps in time you’ll manage to decipher it” Sherlock hummed absently, before he realised that he had to respond -“She seems to think that she is feeling better” he muttered, watching as Mycroft paced towards the door, “Well then-” Mycroft smiled falsely, “-I suppose that’s something” John chuckled dryly, giving a weak nod in agreement, suddenly eager for the man to leave-“Oh and Mycroft” Sherlock called, just as the tall man was about to close the door behind himself- “I want to see those photographs” Mycroft’s face dropped, becoming completely serious as he replied, “No, Sherlock, you don’t.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Dear god” John exhaled, “thank -jesus christ!” his eyes where focused on Rose as she entered the living room, she barely seamed to hear him, her eyes where lightly glazed as she threw her phone into Sherlock’s lap. He was sat in his chair, watching her silently as he caught the device, he didn’t look down at it, he was observing her closely as she crossed the room, the coat she was wearing was Mycroft’s- old, but definitely his brothers, it was long and woollen, he briefly wondered how she’d come to be wrapped up in it, when the man was no where to be seen, but he was quickly distracted by the flexing of her pale fingers, discomfort? he blinked as John flapped around her, becoming frustrated with her lack of response. “Rose” He said finally, his octave around three percent lower than John’s, he’d made note of how she seemed to react more positively to that range, especially when she was, distracted. She looked up, blinking, her eyes focusing, “Yes?” she hummed, noting how Dr. Watson was now reaching out to her shoulder, she sighed loudly, spinning to face him, her head still foggy- “Sorry, John, I’m still a little-” she looked at Sherlock for assistance, “High?” he suggested plainly, he could see the dilation of her pupils. She hummed in agreement as she sucked air in through her nose. “a bit not good” John flapped, Sherlock rolled his eyes, “It’s only cocaine, John, I’m sure she’ll be alright without immediate medical intervention” she seemed to be zoned out again, not just high, then. Rose almost seemed to hear his thoughts, or perhaps she’d managed to hear his statement, either way, she snorted a “No” as she shook her hair out, “I’m fine-” she blinked a little“-Although- can you take a look at something for me?” she was tempering her voice, edging it to a more stable pitch, Sherlock raised a brow, intrigued- “Yeah, Okay, Sure” he answered, she nodded, easily undoing the belt around the coat and dropping it to the floor, once again revealing her naked body, this time though, her pale skin was crossed with deep red welts. Sherlock made his face stay frozen as he judged the angles, harsh-cain- binding on wrists-triangular-crop - “Jesus christ” John hissed, Rose didn’t seem embarrassed as she looked down calmly, “I can see these” she nodded down, “these are fine- Can you look at the back, let me know if I need to clean them out or, you know” she spun slowly, moving her hair away with a flick of her wrist. Sherlock averted his eyes, crossing his legs slowly, arousal? he considered the tension in his lower stomach briefly, before making himself assess the marks on the woman’s upper body. The lashes did seem deeper, there was a particularly nasty one between her shoulder blades that John was prodding at. “I- I don’t think they need stitching- going to be bloody sore though” he decided after a brief spell. Sherlock hummed in agreement as Rose nodded, turning back to face the doctor head on. “Thank you, doctor” she offered him a wry smile as she walked to the kitchen. “Where-What are you doing?” Sherlock heard himself ask, John seemed to mirror his curiosity as he peered after her, “Making tea” she replied honestly, her voice unbothered, Sherlock nodded, returning his attention to the book in his lap. John however, ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Are you completely mad?” he pressed, she laughed then, a little softly, the sound made Sherlock look up, his eyes wanting to find the expression on her face that usually accompanied it- tired, content- This time he found her features to be sallower, she was definitely not quite right. Narcotics? Pain? Exhaustion? He dropped his gaze uneasily when she made eye contact. “You must be in agony” John continued. Rose looked at him with confusion before she regarded herself again, she pressed down on one of the marks and felt a dull throb, “Hardly” she rolled her eyes. “check again in-” Sherlock looked at the clock, “6 hours” he looked up to see her, leaning against the mantle, steaming mug in hand, her eyes closed, “4” she countered, “I don’t have much of a tolerance” she explained, he nodded, filing that away- not recreational. “irrelevant, in any case” she mumbled, still frozen in her position. “I’ll be meeting Ms. Adler again in 5-” John flopped down loudly onto the sofa, “Mental” he grunted, like a curse. “Utterly, completely, bloody mental.” Sherlock peered at him, he seemed concerned, “Don’t worry John, I’m sure she can handle herself” there was a low moan, followed by a vibration in his lap then- he smirked down at the device, he’d known as soon as Rose had given him the phone that a message was due- “Ah” he sighed happily, “‘I accept your proposal- lets’s have dinner’” his voice barely concealed his confusion as he relayed the message, Rose let a small smile fill her face at that. “reply for me?” she requested quietly, wandering towards the sink, ready to discard her empty cup. Sherlock gave her a nod that she didn’t see. “‘Good girl- be ready- I know what you like- Let’s have breakfast’” he felt his lips tighten in realisation but he typed her message precisely before sending it, watching her reappear. John shook his head unhappily at their interaction- “So you’re going to get the photographs? In the morning?” he asked, he sounded hopeful, she opened her eyes then, looking at him strangely, “I’ve already seen the photographs” she stated, like he was completely missing the point, he forced a dry laugh, assuming that she had even less of a tolerance than she’d confessed to- “No, I know- but you’ll collect them-for Mycroft, that’s the end of the case- she’s accepting your proposal, in the morning, yeah? that’s breakfast?” Sherlock let himself smile then, it was endearing, seeing John trying to decipher the situation- “Not quite” he intercepted smugly, he threw the phone at Rose, she caught it easily, despite her state, but she quickly passed it back to him, watching it fall in his lap with a thud. “She’s not just retrieving the photographs” Sherlock told John, ignoring the object completely- “there’s more to this case then that” Rose almost seemed to be sleeping, her face was completely serene, and her chest was rising and falling slowly, but he could see the flickering of her lashes, she was clearly thinking- “oh, and what the bloody hell might that be” Sherlock shifted again, pleased that she was too distracted to observe his body language, he also took the opportunity to scratch at his inner elbow, the broken skin scrapping against his shirt was resulting in an agitating irritation- he hoped the action looked natural as he spoke, “I know what you like” he repeated the phrase, letting himself relax into his previous position, John just starred blankly, but Rose let out a gentle laugh, moving to wonder in the direction of her room, “Rose” Sherlock called, she paused, not moving to either continue on her route, or turn to face him- “I want to see them” she gave a gentle shake of her head. That only served to irritate him, he found himself standing, his temper had been, volatile, of late, and now, he found the sting of not knowing grating at his spine. “I want to see them” he repeated, coming to a stop about a foot from her body, she still didn’t move, he reached out to touch her shoulder. She spun suddenly, shifting to the pin him unceremoniously against the plastered wall. “Jesus christ” John exhaled, coming to a halt beside them, he’d lunged from his seat just moments before, but he hadn’t been quick enough to intervene. Sherlock rolled his eyes, his cheek pressing into the cold surface as the heat from her body spilled out through his suit onto his back. Her grip was tight and with the way he was twisted he knew that he would do best to just wait until she released him of her own accord. “Apologise Sherlock” John advised, a hint of humour in his voice. “No” he muttered petulantly, “I have a right to see them, Rose” he told her honestly, his voice low, the way he knew she’d hear- “Do you?” she challenged, “Do I?” he countered quickly, she dropped his arm, gently stroking his palm, an apology- he knew. She shrugged silently, like she’d completely forgotten what they where talking about. “Rose” the detective insisted, she exhaled slowly, her eyelids flickering again, “I’ll text you the address in the morning- do not arrive before three- Mycroft is coming, John is up to you” she went to leave, but he reached out for her wrist, holding it lower than the fading red band- “Thank you” he said, she didn’t respond, just remained still until he let go, which is when she closed the final distance, and disappeared into her room. John was exasperated. He ran a hand through his hair, that was almost two weeks overdue for a cut, as he let his eyes closed, the adrenaline of worrying over their female flatmate finally ebbing, now that he knew that she was back in her room, (largely, unharmed). “So, what’s going on?” he asked finally, Sherlock gave him a look of annoyance, but surrendered to his need to deliver an explanation- “Rose’s visit appears to have been successful- and she has gone against my brother’s misplaced direction of blocking my involvement-” John snorted, “Successful? Jesus Sherlock- are you blind? she looks like a-” “-corpse?” Sherlock suggested, pacing over to his seat, hearing John’s footsteps coming up behind his own. The laughter he’d expected didn’t come. “She doesn’t look good, mate.” Sherlock disagreed, she always looked good. “She’s fine” he said aloud, his fingers running over the cool metal of her phone. “She is not-” John went to argue, Sherlock shot him a stern glare- “John, she is fine- and anyway- I have a feeling she’ll more than get her own back, come the morning” John’s brow raised, Sherlock sighed, “I know what you like” he quoted, hoping his friend would catch on- when he continued to just blink blankly Sherlock groaned, scratching his arm again- “How do you function John?” he hissed, suddenly angry again, “You’re so-” John raised his hands in surrender, Sherlock caught himself, and lowered his hand, taking a breath to lower his pulse. “in the message Rose has just had me to send- did it sound to you like they where arranging a collection of information? ‘Good girl- I know what you like, let’s have breakfast?” he made his eyes bare into John’s trying to force the man to understand, to comprehend- thankfully, John gave a shake of his head, “Okay, alright- no- but I don’t understand-” Sherlock laughed bitterly, fighting the urge to scrape at his skin again- “Of course you don’t” he hissed through gritted teeth- “it would seem that whatever was proposed after today’s meeting have resulted in an alteration of the dynamics-” he muttered, forcing himself to still in his seat. John tilted his head, but eventually nodded, “it’s a power play?” he asked hopefully, Sherlock grunted in agreement, “Isn’t it always?” he let his eyes close when John fell silent. As his world faded to black, he felt his skin grating against his clothing, it was incessant and nagging, he tried to distract himself, thinking of case notes and chemical formulas, but he couldn’t quite shift the sensation- he jumped up suddenly, walking quickly to his bedroom. “Hey, hey! Sherlock, where are you going? What’s going on?” Sherlock bristled, ashamed of his sudden desperation- he managed to turn to face his friend, offering him a look of contrition- “I’m going to bed, John- If you intend to accompany me tomorrow, I suggest you do the same.” he could almost hear John’s eyes rolling at that, “It’s only eleven- she said we’re going after three, not everyone sleeps past noon” there’s a teasing in his voice, but it’s not malicious, Sherlock nods, ignoring any words that might have follow him as he closed the wooden door, locking himself into his room- he glanced around, a little frantically, before he steadied himself on his sheets, running his fingers under the covers to retrieve a small cigarette case, he opened it, not bothering to look at the paraphernalia as he rolled up his sleeves, he looked at both his arms with discontent- Rose had been correct, as he pressed down on the hollow skin on his left arm, there was little resistance, and a deep ache that took a while to fade, even once he’d removed the pressure- he repeated the action on the right, and found it only marginally better, the veins where certainly more attainable, but as he ran his finger tips over the marks littering his inner elbow he felt a sharp stab- he hissed in a breath, blinking away the liquid that had filled his eyes in response to the pain- Odd. He looked down carefully, he couldn’t see anything unusual, but when he repeated the action he found the splintering pain to be a returning result. He shook it off, deciding to do his best on his left. As he reached down into the open wooden box, grabbing his medical tourniquet, he saw a flutter of paper fall down onto his lap. He felt his pulse quicken with concern, he grabbed it eagerly, his eyes flicking to the door- checking each of the locks to make sure they were still secured- they were. He listened and could hear the hum of the television outside. He blinked again, turning the paper over in his palm. ‘Just ask. R’ The handwriting was curled and delicate, familiar and in blue ink, the paper was from a book- he scanned his windowsill, then his shelf, and saw one issue upturned, his stood, crossing to it quickly, picking it up, and flicking until he saw the page with a tear- his eyes scanned upwards, looking up at the chapter title. ‘Chapter 10 For help.’ Sherlock closed the book carefully, replacing it in its proper position, he knew that Rose would know he’d received the scrawling regardless- he returned to the bed, his hands a little shakier as he grasped the paper, it hadn’t been written long ago, he’d used his kit last night, and she’d left early in the day- maybe she’d been in whilst he’d showered. He didn’t bother to consider how she’d found his hiding spot, again- she always seemed to know. He knew that he should have felt more uncomfortable, being so easily read by her, but he didn’t. Despite himself he found it almost pleasant, to have someone who could at the very least, understand his train of thought, and it helped that for the most part, he could read her too. He tightened the band around his bicep, feeling it cut deep into his muscle, he let out a low breathy moan as he held the note in his fingers, he let it drop when he decided it was more of an instruction, he blinked, watching as it floated carefully down to the ground, he felt almost guilty then, as he let his eyes focus in on the carpet, he just wasn’t ready. He would be, soon, but not yet. He imagined her voice assuring him that, that was alright, but as he picked the needle up from his bedside, he imagined Mycroft’s voice too, scornful and accusing- luckily as he felt the metal dig sourly into his skin, he realized that he had a plethora of memories of Rose telling his older brother to get fucked.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock first woke, to voices, one voice- it was loud and constant outside his door. As he tuned in, he recognized it as Rose, the one sidedness of the conversation made it apparent that it was a phone call. The fact that she was taking it so close to his room, made him certain that he was supposed to hear it, she was too good to make that error by accident- he tried his best to listen, his body was still heavy with sleep, but he closed his eyes, and tuned in the best he could “-He wants to see, Mycroft…. I know…. Yes, probably John too…. I’m not his keeper…. I don’t think so…. no.. i-forfuck- I DONT’ KNOW” there was a pause then, and he could hear her heavy breathing, “…he’s not a child and neither are you… i am aware of that… I’ve already told you that I am aware of that… do not talk to me like I do not understand what is happening here” Another silence. “I promise you, it is under control, if you… I said- you can always do this yourself, you know, I bet I can find you some suitable suspenders” Sherlock felt himself snort with laughter, “It’s not our choice to make Mycroft. You’ve tried to do this before- and you didn’t listen to me then- you are going to listen to me this time. He might well regret it, but that’s his regret to have- Of course I will- Mycroft. Of Course, I will… I always do… Okay. Yes- Three, I’ll have Sherlock bring me some actual clothes this time, thank you. For the coat. Yes. Goodbye.” The next silence was permanent, broken only by quiet footsteps approaching his door, there was no tap on the wood, only the scrape of paper being pushed underneath. He stood, feeling his head rush with blood, he blinked against black spots in his vision as he retrieved the object and fell back on his bed. ‘102 Hunter drive, Moefirst, L192UR. 1500. Bring clothes- Bring John? Pills in third draw under sink, Nexapolan- muscle relaxant x3 with coffee. Stop Scratching! - Get more sleep. Think carefully RE photographs. Your choice. Eat something. R x   
p.s be NICE to John- he’s worried- not just about me.’  
Her handwriting is the same, swirling and precise, the pen is the same, blue and strong, but the paper is different, this is written from a note book, no hidden messages this time, just a message. He let his eyes reread it, once, twice, three times, he’d memorized it by now, but couldn’t seem to stop himself from looking at the words, he tried to image her voice, and found it almost disturbingly easy to picture her tone, her firm, patient way of speaking. His eyes found the x that way accompanying her signature, kiss? Subconscious? affectionate? He only used them with Rose, and even then, it wasn’t every time, it was usually to convey sincerity, often to close an apology, as he folded the paper up, sliding it into his pillow case he found himself wondering if she used them more freely. His eyes closed. Get more sleep- she instructed from somewhere in his mind palace. His body ached, he realized, his arms hurt, his chest hurt, his head, hurt. He let his breathing slow. 

The second time he woke, he was drenched in sweat, his pyjamas clinging lamely to his skin, he stood slower this time, running a hand through his hair and grabbing at the bottle of water on his desk. He gulped it quickly, swallowing hard as it soothed his throat. He let his eyes find his clock, 14:02- he recalled the address on the note, it was 14 minutes away in average traffic, 10 in light, 30 in bad. Sherlock exhaled then, partly relieved- He dressed quickly, opting to not shower as he assessed himself in the full-length mirror. He looked alright, he supposed- a little disheveled perhaps, but nothing he couldn’t pass off as a bad night’s rest or a hard case. He held both hands out before him, and watched as they both shook lightly, as he held the position, his left became more notable, John may not piece it together, but Mycroft would. Pills in third draw under sink, Nexapolan- muscle relaxant x3 with coffee. He remembered her note, and was suddenly a little grateful, for her consideration along with her silence. He let his mind drift back to the night before, he saw a fragment of a book drop to the floor, his eyes flicked over to find it resting on his carpet, as he moved to pick it up, he felt a deep prick of pain, in the bend of his right arm. The sensation prompted him to remember himself experiencing it the night before. He rolled up his sleeve once again. He squinted down at his skin, turning so the bright light from the window could stream in and illuminate it directly. The track marks where not a surprise, but the angry red rash surrounding them was. Irritation. Inflammatory response? Allergy? Infection? The skin was warm to the touch and it almost seemed to burn, with a need to be itched. Sherlock squinted suspiciously at the mottled discoloration. He was always sure to be clean, when he, you know, wasn’t. So, infection seemed unlikely, this was his third relapse in 10 years, and he had never experienced this before, so the possibility of a sudden allergy seemed almost equally as low. Both arms- He examined his left arm, and found that unaffected. There was an angry bruise, from last night’s attempt to find a vein- he had to go deeper, now, they were weaker, and had less tolerance, than before. But, besides that, besides the obvious signs of his abuse, there was nothing. Differences- left arm, less pain, no rash. no heat. more tremor, more weakness. more use. favorite? - right arm, - dominant. pain when moved. rash. heat. He shook that all off. lowering both his sleeves once again, indulging the urge to scrape his nails against the raised skin- Stop Scratching! Sherlock gritted his teeth, straightened his shirt, and headed for the kitchen, flicking on the kettle and grabbing a mug before he’d even heard John’s voice. “Good morning to you to” the doctor grumbled, he was sat on the sofa, usual place. Jumper- regular- smart- anticipation of seeing Mycroft? - Hands, on lap- tv, not on? “What have you been doing?” he asked, rummaging in the third draw under the sink, pleased with how quickly he retrieved three, small white pills from where they were wrapped in tinfoil. “waiting for you?” John replied, his voice was louder. Sherlock stood up to see him approaching the door way. He slipped the pills into his pocket, grabbing a spoon of coffee for his own mug. He felt himself go to snort, irritated at the response for the younger man. Why was he watching him like that? be NICE to John. Sherlock could practically hear the command, as he recalled the addition at the bottom of the letter. He softened his face, and regarded his friend, “Coffee?” he offered curtly, John raised a brow accusingly, “You don’t make coffee, Sherlock” he reminded him. Sherlock huffed then, nodding down at the mugs “You’re right, how could I forget. You best get on with it then, John. Kettle’s boiled.” He exited the room quickly- swallowing the fist of pills dry as soon as he was out of view. “Jesus Christ” John muttered, he was irritated, but not objecting, in fact, Sherlock could hear the clank of utensils that confirmed the fact that John was indeed making him a coffee. Be NICE to John. Rose’s voice insisted, from somewhere in his head. He rubbed his temple. “Thank you” he murmured, accepting the beverage with a glance at the clock. 14:21. Leave in 10 minutes or less. John laughed then, “another long night?” he asked carefully, Sherlock made a small noise of agreement, curling his knuckles against the hot porcelain, trying to use the subtle burn as a substitute for the itching he really, really, wanted to do. “Is it Eurus?” He pressed cautiously, Sherlock made a conscious effort to quell his temper. “Is it Rose? Is it this case-?” he shot John a glare that was more intimidating than it should have been- “Ok” the doctor raised his hands in defense. “But if you want to talk, all you have to do is-” “Ask” Sherlock grunted, downing the remainder of his coffee. “I am aware, John” he tried to temper his interruption with a smile, but he can’t imagine it being very convincing, not whilst he is so observed with the blazing irritation on his arm. John accepted it anyway, allowing them to sit in silence until Sherlock bounced up. “Come on then” he ordered, unable to be still for a moment longer. He looked at John before grabbing his coat and scarf. “Where are we going?” John asked, his voice calm, Sherlock turned to regard him, a little impatiently. “To see those photographs, John” he still looked confused. “Rose didn’t leave an address, Sherlock.” He said apologetic, “Oh” the tall man laughed breathily in response, “I’ve got that, come along now” he nodded at the door. John still didn’t move, he felt himself frown. “Are you sure, you want me there Sherlock- Rose said I could come if you want me to.” Sherlock exhaled in realisation- be NICE to John- he’s worried- not just about me. not just about me. He thought he should apologise. But he didn’t. Instead, he smiled, as genuinely as he could manage, and tilted his head, “Of course I’m sure John. I’d be lost without my blogger.”


	6. Chapter 6

“You’re early” Mycroft muttered from where he was stood, almost guarding the white wooden door. There was a crack and a scream from inside the hidden room. Sherlock rolled his eyes at both his brother’s greeting, and the strange look of discomfort on John’s face. There was a loud moan. “What’s happening in there?” Watson asked, pulling at his jumper uneasily, Sherlock ignored him. “All manner of things, I expect” Mycroft replied uninterested, before looking down at his phone. Sherlock passed his coat to the blonde woman who appeared behind him, her arrival had been announced by her absurdly high heels clicking on the marble floors- he glanced at her briefly, she was different to the last one, although similar in appearance- her hair was fake, but maintained in loose curls, her nails a bright red that matched her lips. Mycroft dismissed her with a silent wave of his hand. John stared after her, his lips parted, Sherlock snorted at that, _predictable_. He saw the man shift slightly, adjusting his position. “It’s three” Sherlock announced petulantly, the second the clock flicked over. Mycroft swatted his hand away from the door, knocking twice before waiting. “Come in” Rose answered cheerily. As the door swung open, John realised that nothing could have prepared him for the scene that graced his eyes. The room was white, white stone floors, white painted walls, with high white ceilings- there was a velour white and gold sofa, behind a white and glass coffee table, another velvet armchair sat off to the left of that. There was probably some kind decoration in the otherwise baron space, but before he could try to see any, his eyes found Rose, naked, and perfect, poised in front of an equally as naked, Irene Adler. She looked much the same as John recalled, her hair was black, and pulled back, her lips painted a deep shade of red, what was very different however, was how she was restrained, hanging from the ceiling in coils of thick brown rope, the loops crossing her body to keep her in position, her mouth was spread with a shining black ball gag, and there were angry red lines glaring from every exposed inch of milk white skin. John blinked, like he was seeing something from a very strange dream- the biazarity of it all was aided by how Rose was absentmindedly petting the woman’s hair, her own body was still bruised but somehow, he thought that it seemed much less intense than it had the night before, perhaps it was the context that the situation was providing, making it easier for his mind to tolerate. As he looked back at Sherlock he was surprised to see him already sat on the sofa, Mycroft was on the chair across, neither seemed particularly interested in the women they’d disturbed. Until Rose crossed the space and dropped a brown paper envelope onto the coffee table with a dull thud. “Clothes?” she said, more _at_ Sherlock than _to_ him. A strange look of unease crossed the tall man’s features then, “ _Sorry_ ” he replied, looking up through his curls, she rolled her eyes, “ _Did you even eat?_ ” she seemed to already know the answer though, as she walked passed him, out into the hallway. There was an odd silence in the wake of her exit. The bound woman looked shocked, but not distressed, and the Holmes brothers almost seemed bored. John wandered if he was the only sane person left alive, or if perhaps he’d snapped a long time ago, and this was all just a delusion- he was about to start theorising the likelihood of this out-loud, but Rose walked back into the room, covered in a silk red robe, she pecked a slow kiss on the assistant’s cheek. “Thank you sweetie” she said with a wink, before crossing over and sitting at Sherlock’s side. She looked at John patiently, before tapping the remaining space at her flank. He nodded, blinking quickly as he made his body go to join them. She reached forwards, sliding the envelope over to Mycroft, “They’re the only copies” she assured the man, leaning back, he nodded stiffly. “though you needn’t have bothered with all this” she looked around, “As fun as it was, she could never have used them-” She looked over her shoulder, “Isn’t that right?” there was a strange viciousness in her tone. “I don’t understand” Mycroft said honestly. Sherlock huffed, “Naturally.” Rose elbowed him gently. “Look at them again” she insisted. Mycroft shifted unhappily, but did as he’d been bid, and opened the envelope, scanning the images with a look of distaste. “They’re not fakes- I have every assurance-” Rose shook her head coolly, “No” she agreed, “They’re genuine, but not, consensual” she chose the last word carefully, “I didn’t suspect this photoshoot was one that was agreed upon-” Mycroft went to counter, she shook her head again, becoming tired of the lack of clarity. _Careful_. “ _Look_ ” she insisted, moving to kneel on the table, reaching from behind to point at the top of an arm that was visible on the image- her finger trailed to the half open eyes in the shot before she looked up at Mycroft to gauge his understanding. The stern-faced man, sighed, adjusting his tie as she returned to her position on the sofa. “That does change things- _unless_ ” he went to ask, glancing at Sherlock’s arms. The younger man pretended not to notice. Rose shook her head firmly. “No-” the man nodded finally, in unhappy acceptance. “Mycroft” Sherlock said seriously, his eyes glaring- almost though they were trying to burn straight through the photographs he was holding. “Show me” The older man shot a look at Rose, whatever, assistance he was hoping to gain from her, didn’t come. She stood, instead, walking back over to the woman, reaching down into a small jar that was sitting on a white wooden desk, surrounded by a wide array of whips, canes, collars and chains. As her soft fingers began lathering a clear gel over Irene’s body, John averted his eyes, and spoke to block out the moaning that was beginning behind him. “What’s going on?” he coughed falsely, looking over at the where the detective was frowning sternly at Mycroft. “Sherlock?” John asked, the man didn’t move. “Are you certain?” Mycroft surrendered, Sherlock nodded. “In, all present company?” The older man clarified, “Yes” Sherlock confirmed flatly, accepting the papers, he wasn’t as eager as John had expected him to have been, after all the fuss he’d made. He wandered if he’d already guessed at the contents. His wondering was short lived as he saw the images. _Sherlock_ was the, contents. Suddenly everything made a little more sense. Rose came up behind Sherlock, a hand supportively behind him, not touching his body, but there, holding onto the structure that he was leaning against. And John blinked, seeing an array of clearly captured still frames of his best-friend, naked, and handcuffed, on what looked like his own bed. His hair was hanging over his eyes, that where barely open, and his legs where parted and bound and as he looked further, he could clearly see a red object pressing into his- Sherlock dropped the collection, his face frozen and unexpressive. Quiet tension hung in the air, Rose no move to either comfort or provoke anyone, and Mycroft seamed resolved. John couldn’t stand it anymore-“Is that, in the flat?” he asked lamely, not knowing what else to say. Sherlock seemed to jolt awake at his voice- “So it would seem” Mycroft fixed his tie again, clearly uncomfortable, he did move quickly though, to lean forwards and replace the pictures into their brown envelope. “ _You don’t_ \- do- do you remember _it?_ ” John pressed, despite himself. Surely the man would have mentioned something. Sherlock gave a shake of his head. “No” he answered honestly. “I assume, they were taken at the same time as Miss Adler planted her phone in my coat- I recall calling for you, _John_ \- but when you came, nothing seemed unusual except that I was-” Rose laughed quietly, “ _High as a kite?_ ” she suggested, helpfully. Sherlock moved in his seat, thinking that there was nothing more, he wanted in the world than to scratch his arm until it bled. Blessedly, Rose brushed past him, blocking Mycroft’s view on him for a second, he used it, gritting his teeth and forcing his nails down against his shirt. She moved away, sitting next to him, with a reproachful look _. I was nice to John, he wanted to argue, I got more sleep, I’m trying my best._ Rose sighed loudly, “There was some, discomfort- the next day, but I assumed it was a side effect from whatever she may or may not have given me.” Sherlock felt the need to explain, he’d always known, that something hadn’t been right, he’d probably repressed anything that he may have remembered back then- he decided that for now, he was going to try and keep it that way-“ _anyway-”_ Rose took over the conversation swiftly, noting the discomfort radiating away from the man next to her- “these aren’t like her usual keepsakes, if _I_ figured it all out at first glance- _surely_ someone else in your employ would have noticed, should she have made an attempt at using them, upon discovering the _context_ she would have found her situation largely more _precarious_ \- any attempt at extortion would have been futile.” Her eyes pierced Mycroft’s, it was almost a challenge, _though_ he thought it looked it closer to _scolding-_ Her message was clear _-_ i _f his team had been better equipped, she never would have had to have been involved in this case at all._ He gave her an apologetic nod. “One would have hoped.” The following silence was more uncomfortable than the previous, partly because the groaning from the woman behind them was increasing in its intensity. “We should go” Rose said, finally. Sherlock gave a distracted nod. “Yes. _Quite_. Rose- _as always_ , thank you for your service. Dr. Watson, enjoy your date-” Mycroft stood, nodding at each of them in turn, John was the last to make it to his feet, he felt strangely off balance as he returned the gesture- “Sherlock, you really should let someone take a look at that rash” Mycroft’s tone was softer than the usual one that John was used to the older Holmes using, especially when addressing Sherlock, it was less _judgmental_ somehow. He thought grimly that that was probably as close as the brothers got to offering each other comfort. Sherlock made a short noise of agreement, looking at Rose, strangely. “What the bloody hell are we going to do with _her_?” John asked as they began to file out of the space- Mycroft looked over at Irene, almost as though he’d just remembered that she was there. “ _Oh_ , I don’t know Dr. Watson- we have a wide and expansive team of people to come to a conclusion regarding that.” Rose brushed passed him, throwing him the small metal jar that she’d dipped into earlier. “You have about 2 minutes left to decide how kind you’re feeling” she told him blankly, everyone blinked at her. She turned to address the women, with a strange kind of expression. “It was a gift, from an ex-boyfriend of mine- he was _very_ good at science- _apparently_ it’s completely harmless- though if I recall, after around 7 minutes of contact with the skin, the heat increases to something similar to that of a very specific kind of acid” Rose seemed to snap out of her daydream then- turning away to look at Sherlock, when she found his eyes oddly blank, she directed her attention at Mycroft. “Either wash it with warm, soapy water- or, I don’t know” She shrugged, “ _Don’t._ ” She continued to pace back away down the hall way. Muting everything around her as she felt the soft material of the dressing gown brush her bruises. “ _Jesus Christ_ ” John hissed, “ _bloody hell_ ” he continued muttering various curses until they arrived by the entrance to the building. “I’ll call a taxi” Sherlock said, finally. His voice was steady and strangely unemotional. Rose hummed calmly, watching as he made no move to reach for his phone. “John will want to change I expect?” Sherlock continued, looking down at John with barely disguised displeasure. “ _What?_ Why? Where am I going?” he rolled his eyes, no longer bothered by a need to be polite. “ _date_ ” he muttered, Rose handed Sherlock her mobile- it was already open on the taxi firm’s number, she just looked at him reproachfully until he made the call. “I don’t have a bloody date.” John countered, frustratednow. _Why was everyone ignoring what had just happened? This wasn’t normal._ Rose smiled, seemingly relaxed as she moved, handing him a scrap of paper from the deep pocket of the borrowed housecoat. “Suzie wants you to call her” she explained, nodding behind them, as the blonde scurried away shyly. “She seems to be available for dinner” she added with a smirk. John flushed but pocketed the number. “I am not going anywhere after what’s just-” Sherlock slipped on his coat, “It is fine, John.” His voice was making it clear that he was not going to discuss the subject further. “Go” Rose suggested happily, “Book a table, enjoy yourself” John was utterly, completely, _exhausted_ , but she gave him a kind look, before turning to Sherlock, he took the gesture as reassurance that she had it covered. Whatever _it_ , was. “I’m taking Sherlock to dinner, anyway” she decided, suddenly. “Well, it’s like, four, so supper? _Maybe_. _Whatever_ , _food_ , in any case. We’re getting food.” Sherlock remained uncharacteristically silent. John wanted to argue, but he knew better. “ _Fine_ , alright then- _Wait-_ ” he looked at Rose, blinking, “You don’t have any actual clothes on under that” Rose looked down at herself with amusement, “Very well observed, Dr. Watson” Sherlock muttered, “Our car is outside. Yours should be along in a moment. Enjoy Suzie” Rose snorted as he walked straight out into the waiting vehicle- “I hear she’s quite good” Rose added, trying to soften the words of the detective- she managed to make her delivery a little more humours- She pecked a kiss on John’s cheek, giving him a reassuring squeeze before she made to get into the cab beside the detective. Sherlock stayed silent as she slipped in, deliberately not touching him as she gave the driver the name of a quiet Italian restaurant.


	7. Chapter 7

“I’m not hungry” Sherlock complained as Rose pushed his untouched plate back in front of him. She rolled her eyes, “You’re not a child, Sherlock, don’t act like one.” she sounded scornful- “ _Eat_ ” he exhaled sharply, his fingers absentmindedly going to his inner arm as he grabbed for his fork, “ _Scratching_ ” she muttered quietly. He slammed his hands down on the table. She didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink at the action. “I am _not_ in shock” he told her, angrily. “Did I suggest that you where?” she countered with a look of consideration. He huffed, scraping at his shirt again, “You are being _insufferable_ \- as bad as John- _Worse_ , than John-” his voice was quieter now, _now_ that he knew he was being unreasonable. She laughed properly then, he liked it, he realised- _the glow of her smile, lit by the candle in the booth, the tenor of her laughter as she watched him, where all oddly comforting_ \- “And _you’re_ bleeding” she observed, flicking her eyes to the spot of red spreading through his shirt. He was silent as he ate and it was over an hour before either of them spoke again. Neither of them felt the need to force conversation, Rose knew that Sherlock would talk, if and when he was ready- and Sherlock just, wasn’t. He didn’t even particularly want to be thinking, but since he had no current way of alleviating that bodily process, he settled for forcing himself to obey basic commands. _Chew. Swallow. Breathe. Chew. Swallow. Breathe._ Rose sighed finally, watching him with approval as he drained a glass of water. “ _Home?_ ” she checked, when he had finally cleared his plate, he grunted, agitated by his physical discomfort- but he gave her a nod all the same. “Come on then” she said calmly, standing and waiting for him to follow her to the road.

 

“ _Well_ , are you going to look at it?” Sherlock almost demanded as they walked into baker street, he had been barely controlling himself throughout their journey back to the flat, he _knew_ that _she knew_ that he needed this seen to- making him wait even a moment longer seemed cruel- Rose just snorted, “Look at what?” John broke in, appearing from his room, in his best sweater- Sherlock looked shellshocked, he’d clearly been too distracted to notice the signs of John’s presence. “is it that rash Mycroft was talking about?” he pressed, “I can always-” Sherlock spun to face him. “No” he almost yelled. Rose wandered back over, “Ignore him, John. _He’s being a brat-_ ” she shot him a harsh glance. “It’s those bloody Eurus tapes again-” she lied, “and I _will_ look at them, _when_ he asks me politely.” Her voice was firm, Sherlock spun and disappeared into his room with a slam of his door. “I don’t think I should go tonight” John sighed, looking anxiously over his shoulder, “Mycroft calls them danger nights, you know, nights when he might-” Rose smiled calmly. “I know, John. I’ve got it.” He looked at her closely, he wondered what _it_ , was. “ _he might rela-_ ” Rose chuckled dryly, and gave him an odd look. “ _I’ve got it._ ” She repeated. John felt a weird sense of dread spread through his bones. “There is nothing you being here will contribute to- _Trust me._ ” she requested plainly, “ _Go_ ” she patted his shoulder kindly, “you deserve a night off” John pursed his lips in consideration before he eventually surrendered, giving her a nod. “ _Alright, Okay. Yeah_ \- Night off” it was almost chant as he made it towards the door. “She likes white wine, fish and chips and has a dog _”_ Rose rattled off quickly, “3 sisters, 1 brother _, not close. Loves a man in uniform-_ might be a good idea to pull rank-” Sherlock stuck his head out from his room, his black curls falling lamely in front of his eyes- “ _and she is allergic to tree nuts._ ” he added, with a small, almost shy cough, “ _Rose_ \- would you _please_ , come and take a look at this for me?” Rose tried to keep her expression smooth when she registered the tint of urgency in Sherlock’s voice. She offered him an absentminded nod, “ _Jesus Christ_ \- is there a book you’ve read? On how to get him to do that?” John looked shocked as the door swung closed again. Rose faked a laugh, “A-Z of parenting” she joked- there was a few more minutes of idle chatter as John delayed leaving, something felt off, and he was rubbish at dating- it seemed like a set up for a calamity, but finally, he convinced himself to give it a shot- he might end up with a snog, if nothing else.

 

Rose softly discarded her medical kit on the edge of Sherlock’s bed. She’d entered, and closed the door behind her, and he was _still_ staring blankly at the window, his shirt discarded and his hand scratching lamely at his elbow. His chest was shining with a thin layer of sweat, his lungs inflating and deflating in shallow breaths -“ _Come on then_ ” she sighed, trying to engage with him- he didn’t move as she crouched down in front of his face, “Sherlock” she said, waiting to see if he responded, his eyes met hers. “I’m not going to do _anything_ , until you tell I can” _it was a promise, not a threat,_ and he as he gave her a meagre nod, he found himself flushing with embarrassment- He hated this. He hated the state of his body. She smiled though, genuinely, and patiently as he offered her his right arm, the skin was broken, and a little bit bloody, the track marks raised an angry under her consideration. “I’m going to wipe it off, okay?” she checked, bringing up an antiseptic wipe for him to see. She knew Sherlock was funny, with being touched, _especially_ his arms, and that was at the best of times, she was going to take this slowly- he nodded once, steeling himself. “ _Alright_ ” he agreed. She exhaled, gently wiping his skin. He flinched a little, but stayed still as she held his wrist with her free hand. “When did it start?” she asked, releasing him and looking at the angry red skin- the scratch lines where visible, but there was a much deeper shade of irritation beneath them. He shrugged, “I noticed yesterday morning” she hummed, considering. “Can I see the other one?” She requested calmly, he silently raised his left arm, “I’m going to touch you now, okay?” she kept her voice soft, he gave her a small nod, breathing heavily as she ran her hand up to the pinprick marks littering his pale skin, she chewed her lip thoughtfully, “I’m going to _push_ \- just a little-” she pressed down, he tried to pull his arm away with a hiss, “I know- I’m sorry” she soothed, releasing him. “This side now okay?” she looked at his bad arm. He didn’t respond. “I think I know what’s wrong- _I can fix it_ \- but I need to check it first, okay? Whenever you’re ready-” he stayed frozen in place, but after a few deep breaths, relented and raised his hand to her, “Thank you” she said, holding his wrist steady, “I’ll be as quick as I can” she swore, running her fingers over his skin, before pushing down swiftly. Sherlock gasped in pain, jerking away involuntarily, she let him move freely, dropping him as he pulled against her grip. She nodded, “It’s fine” she told him confidently, he looked up at her, his eyes scornful. “ _Obviously this, isn’t fine_ ” she rolled her eyes, looking around his room in distaste- “But _that_ -” she nodded at his arm, “It’s your dominant arm, you’re not as steady with your left, and from the looks of it, you always start on the other- so you’re already a little-” she thought of a delicate way to put it, “- _Out of it-_ ” she decided, “when you switch over to that side-” he was listening. “You either got a little shaky, or _distracted_ or _whatever_ , and the needle snapped off, it’ll have been a week ago maybe? It’s been migrating up ever since, I can grab it with some tweezers, if you hold still- you’ll still be bruised up, but removing it should make you more comfortable.” Sherlock tilted his head up, expecting to see lingering trace of disgust or anger or even worse, _sympathy_ on her face, however he found her eyes unwavering, her lip considerate, but not judgmental. He gave her another nod, and was given a smile as reward. He clung to it more than he’d ever admit- “It’ll be a little uncomfortable, but I’m sure you’ll live” she said as she reached into her bag and pulled out a thin pair of stainless steel tweezers. He averted his eyes as he let his arm drop by his side. “Okay Sherlock” she exhaled once she’d positioned herself close to his limb- he could feel her breath on his arm, “I’m going to start now, okay? I’m going to put this hand _here-_ ” she put her left hand supportively behind the bend of his elbow, pushing gently so she could stretch the skin, making it as taught as possible. “-and I’m going to grab it” she saw the small spec of grey, barely standing out in the centre of the scratches. “Yes, alright” He said quietly, she felt a strange sense of protectiveness, then, so she hummed, “Just breath, Sherlock, it’s alright.” He gritted his teeth as nipped at his flesh with the tool. “ _I know it’s alright_.” He hissed. _He wasn’t alright_ , and she didn’t reply. Rose did continue to hum, though, it was a very quiet sound, a low slow tune, but it distracted Sherlock from the scraping, pinching feeling that he was experiencing as she grabbed at the tiny fragment of metal. “Okay, don’t move” she instructed, finally pulling upwards. He let a grossly embarrassing moan escape his lips as she released him, holding up the foreign body for inspection. “ _There_ ” she said, letting him see the centimetre-long intrusion. He grimaced, but said nothing she handed him a piece of cotton wool for him to press against the spec of blood that was gathering in its wake. Sherlock didn’t move, didn’t try and cover himself and he didn’t ask her to leave. Rose watched him for a few seconds before squatting back down to his eye level. “Mycroft knows, you know- _or he will_ , he’s not stupid” Sherlock give a small nod. “I am aware” the bitterness he tried to add into his tone fell short, “And John” she added, “He’s a doctor, Sherlock, that takes some degree of intelligence- _and he’s your friend._ He thinks you’re planning a relapse tonight” Sherlock let his eyes roll up to hers, “Did you-” she chuckled silently, “What? tell him that he’s about 8 months too late?” She shook her head. “No, Sherlock, _I told you_ \- just because I _know_ , doesn’t mean it’s any of my business.” He appreciated that, more than he could say, he made an attempt at a smile, but it wasn’t very affective. “When they ask?” he questioned, wanting to know how long he could cling to any dignity he had left, _although_ , sat before one of his closet friends, shaking and sweating uncontrollably, it didn’t feel as though he had much to lose- Even as that thought crossed his mind, part of him knew that wasn’t not true. Withdrawal was always worse than relapse. _Always_. “What would you like me to say?” she asked him, he didn’t know. “Does it matter?” he countered, looking back up at her. This was ending, anyway- he was resigned to that, to tonight being one of the last he could have _this_. Mycroft would find out regardless, and send him away, to one of the family properties, maybe the one in south Cambridge- that one was in the middle renovation, the mess he made would be easy to repair. “ _Of Course, it matters_ ” Rose rolled her eyes, her hand on his thigh, he knew it was an instinctual response on her end. An attempt at comfort, and despite everything, every reason he had to feel uncomfortable with it, he didn’t, as she retracted her hand with a sharp “ _Sorry_ ” he felt his head shake. “It’s alright” he muttered. He was disappointed when she didn’t reach out again.“Mycroft will want to send me-I don’t want-not-I don’t want to go-” he started to explain, she shook her head calmly, “Don’t worry about that” she sounded confident, he liked that, he needed it. “You know I won’t tell anyone, but if they ask, do you want me to lie?” He knew she was offering, he was certain that she would cover for him, _without hesitation_ \- and he was almost equally as sure that she’d be able to make it convincing enough to fool not only his friend but his brother. He shook his head- “No” he muttered. Rose sighed then, he didn’t like the sadness behind the sound. “Alright” she agreed, knowing Sherlock was done being able to talk, his body was shaking, and she was tired. “Is that everything you need?” she checked, standing, packing away her things. Sherlock blinked. _Uncertain_. She looked around for a moment, scanning his belongings, “fake book, or mattress?” she asked aiming for jovial, he knew that she was referring to where he’d hidden his stash this time. He gave her a defeated smile, it was sad, she noticed, but there nonetheless. “Yes” he admitted, not wanting to clarify further, “I’m-I _’m not-_ ” he tried to explain why he couldn’t just hand it over then and there, she didn’t seem to hear him as she continued to leave. “ _Rose, I will_ -” She raised a hand to silence him, “I know” she replied, “ _I will_ ” he promised, “but I- not- _not tonight-_ ” his was almost pleading, she hated it. “I know, Sherlock. It’s alright.” She shut the door. Not looking back to see the tears in his eyes, or the shake in his hands as he reached into the hidden space in his mattress, pulling out an old cigarette case.


	8. Chapter 8

“He’ll be alright” Rose sighed, she was sat on the sofa, legs crossed and phone held to her ear. “How many months has it been now?” Mycroft asked bluntly, she rolled her eyes, bored. “8 or so” she replied, as though she was talking about anything else. “Swimming pool” the man grumbled. She hummed in agreement, “I did warn John” Mycroft sounded disappointed. “It’s not his fault” She defended the man, “I only know because I’m me” she rolled her shoulders. “Anyway, it’s not like it would’ve changed anything” Mycroft exhaled quietly on the other end of the line and Rose was almost certain that she could hear the rustling of papers. “I suppose you’re right” he agreed eventually, “No matter- we have a property on the outskirts of Cambridge that should be, suitable. When my brother decides that he’s done being an ingrate- I’ll send someone to take -” Rose shook her head, he couldn’t see her, “He doesn’t want to go” she said calmly, she could almost hear Mycroft rolling his eyes then. “Of course he doesn’t want-” she laughed sourly, “No, I mean- he doesn’t want to be sent off to some unfurnished house to come down on his own” Mycroft exhaled, “Some might say that he lost the right to complain 32 weeks ago” Rose shifted, “and he isn’t strictly alone- you were there last time” Rose inhaled, “He didn’t know that- and all I did was give him food and water through a doorway, Mycroft- I’m telling you, he won’t go.” Mycroft moved more paperwork. “I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it” The older man conceded. “Did you look at his arm?” She closed her eyes then, “Yes, Mycroft, I told you- I’m taking care of it.” He made a noise of agreement, “How is he today?” He asked, a strange note of almost concern in his voice. She glanced over at his closed wooden door. “Sleeping” she told him honestly. “And John’s still out” Mycroft coughed, “Is Doctor Watson awa-” “-not yet” she cut him off. “he was worried last night, about a relapse, but I told him not to worry” There was a clicking sound, “I do suppose that particular ship has sailed” Rose laughed then, despite herself. “Will he find out?” Mycroft asked then, “I’d think so” she told him genuinely, “Sherlock told me not to lie, should either of you ask- otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” She heard Mycroft humming again, “he must be close” he decided, she nodded again, “I’d say maybe a day or two, at a push” “good then- let me know when to send the car.” She groaned, “And if he says no?” she insisted. Sherlock wouldn’t be going anywhere, last night had proven that. “he has never refused before” Mycroft answered evasively, “Mycroft” she cautioned, he sighed, relenting, “in the case of that eventuality, I will come and speak to him myself.” she didn’t know whether that was a good thing, but she made her goodbyes and relaxed back down onto her seat. She flicked her glance to the clock on the wall, 13:32. John’s date must’ve gone well. Her suspicions were reinforced when John wondered in through the door in the same clothes he’d left in the night before. Hair tousled and damp- weather was cloudy but dry- showered there- face, flushed but rested. She smiled in approval. “Good night?” she confirmed cheerily, John jumped with shock, “Jesus Christ” he hissed, “yeah, yeah it was actually- what are you doing?” he looked at her oddly, she supposed that she might look a little unusual, sitting in silence, she decided on honesty as he rustled around towards the kitchen, “I’ve just gotten Mycroft off the phone” she said, he raised a mug for her approval, “2 sugars, please” she accepted with a nod. He made an interested noise“Case?” He asked, She snorted, “No- Sherlock” she felt her eyes look at the door to the absent man’s room again, “Oh yeah” John remembered guiltily, “How is he?” she shrugged, “Quiet.” That wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t made a sound all night, she’d pressed her ear up against his wall to check that he was, indeed snoring, but otherwise, she’d chosen to keep her distance. “Is that good or bad?” John pressed, coming to sit next to her, passing her a steaming mug. She shrugged again, resting her head softly on his shoulder, enjoying the affection as he wrapped an arm around her back. He looked down at Rose, it seemed strange, suddenly seeing her look so average. She was still, beautiful, but she didn’t look as powerful as he had become accustomed to her being. He found himself remembering the first time he’d ever seen her. - it had been well over a year ago, Sherlock had been working on a case for Scotland yard, so naturally, John had followed behind, something, somewhere had gotten mixed up and both the men had ended up tied in an old warehouse, face to face with 7 armed men from somewhere in Bulgaria. Sherlock had been unusually calm, and eventually, Mycroft had shown up- John could still hear Sherlock’s taunting, he’d asked for some kind of firepower, a SWAT team maybe, but when only his older brother had appeared the situation had felt a little hopeless- Until Mycroft had presented Rose, a slender framed woman, dressed in black leather, texting absentmindedly as they’d argued back and forth. The older Holmes brother had nearly fainted with smugness as he explained that this was the best weapon at his disposal- John recalled feeling like was having some kind of stress induced stroke when she’d jumped down from a balcony, landing swiftly and rendering all the men either dead of too wounded to move. It hadn’t taken her long at all, though she’d later refuted their praise by saying she’d had a gun. Even Sherlock had been impressed- Now though, she was one of the people he cared for most, and she was wearing thin cotton, her long dark brown curls hung softly down her back, her eyes where closed and her breathing was slow as she rested against him, she almost looked peaceful. “Are you alright?” He asked her finally, not wanting to disturb her. Rose nodded, but didn’t pull away, “Is he?” he asked then, nodding over to the detective’s room. She sat up slowly, blinking herself back to alertness and sipping her drink. “He will be” she told him honestly. John took that, and smiled, squeezing her kindly. Letting her move herself away completely in her own time. Rose didn’t share Sherlock’s aversion to touch, for the most part. There where exceptions that both John and Sherlock had come to notice, like when she was in the middle of a case that was taking a lot of her energy- or if she was still in the aftermath of a fight- those where times when it was always best to give her, her own space- she could be unpredictable in her reactions. John thought it was probably due to her military training, he had a certain degree of it himself and he couldn’t deny that he was prone to overreactions in stressful situations, and he didn’t have what she’d once described as the constant noise of intelligence in his head. She was better at explaining herself than Sherlock, he’d give her that- no matter their similarities, she was more socially eloquent than her male counterpart.   
“Did he cause you any trouble?” John pushed, Rose shook her head, “Not at all” she replied, again, it wasn’t a lie- despite the obvious negatives, that was one thing she could say for Sherlock’s drug problem, he was usually pretty subdued when he was using- it was more the times when he wasn’t that caused the problems. “Good” John exhaled with relief. He saw something that he thought might have been guilt cross her face at that. “Am I missing something?” He checked carefully, “Probably” Sherlock’s irritated voice cut in. He ignored both of them completely as he strode into the kitchen. “very nice” John muttered, “Good morning to you too” he spoke up. Sherlock grunted something that Rose suspected was a comment on John’s attire. She gave a dry chuckle. “Your brother sends his regards” she told him, pleased with the pause of the noise coming from the room as he heard her. “Did he really?” he challenged, still not looking over at them. It didn’t matter, she didn’t need to see his face to know that he knew what she was trying to convey. “Yes.” She replied quickly. “He wants you to let him know if you would like to go and see that house he’s working down in Coventry” “Cambridge” Sherlock corrected instantly. She recalled her conversation and gave him an absentminded nod, “Sorry, yes- that’s the one.” He made a small none committal noise, before looking at her in the doorway, “And if I refuse?” she shrugged, “He didn’t set a time limit on the invitation” she tilted her body language towards John, trying to let him know that the other man was blissfully ignorant to the true meaning of their conversation. Sherlock understood, he gave a nod with a roll of his eyes. “I suspect if I don’t go at all there will be some kind of consequence.” Rose laughed sweetly, “Yes, he’ll come and show you some progression photographs in person.” Sherlock froze again then, raising his brow. “Will he?” Rose shrugged again. “Or so he’s threatened” Sherlock snorted. “That might be a good idea” John chimed in. Both Rose and Sherlock looked at him curiously, “A holiday can’t hurt” he added, suddenly uncomfortable under their scrutiny. Sherlock turned away silently, Rose however smiled again, “Is it really a holiday if you’re on your own?” she asked, John’s face filled with understanding. Maybe time alone wasn’t best for Sherlock. “Maybe not” he admitted, feeling stupid. Rose patted his thigh, “It’s torturous” Sherlock grumbled, Rose furrowed her brow, interesting choice of words. He seemed to catch himself however, as he met her eyes, embarrassed as he sat in his own chair, he was clutching a full mug to his chest. “It’s a dump, but he means well” she laughed, in an attempt to block John from picking up on the unusually emotive word. “You’ve seen it then?” Watson asked, “The house he’s working on” Sherlock was staring at her, Rose could feel his eyes trying to burn through her face. She felt her cheeks flush and cursed her body. “About 5 years ago” she admitted, she hid her mouth behind her mug. “I didn’t really know what I was looking at, it was more of a mess than anything else.” she added, “-I suppose thing’s will have changed since then” Sherlock’s face was scarlet. John chuckled, completely oblivious- “I guess that’s why he’s fixing it up then” he said, “Though if it was in such a state, he probably could have just sold it by now, saved himself the trouble- sounds like a write off.” Rose shrugged. “He seems attached to it” John snorted, “I suppose he has enough money to do whatever he wants” Rose nodded in agreement, giving Sherlock a glance she hoped was supportive. “He’s more sentimental than you’d think” “-Is he?” Sherlock challenged, suddenly angry. Rose tilted her head. “No” she allowed, “But he’s practical.”


	9. Chapter 9

The rest of the day was spent quietly, Sherlock sulked around, snapping at John, and occasionally even at Rose- it didn’t take them long to just give him a wide-berth. Rose considered going outside, but decided against it- the weather was grimly over cast and there was nothing any more interesting going on out there. John had ducked down into Mrs. Hudson’s place, to water her plants- she was still out of town staying with her sister, and would be for a further 5 days. They received no mail, and Lestrade didn’t text with any cases. John worked on his blog for a while, and Sherlock surrendered to the tedium and composed for a few hours before Rose insisted that they all eat something. “Don’t complain” she warned Sherlock firmly, “Just eat.” Her voice was commanding enough to stop him from refusing her vocally, he did however give her a sarcastic salute. She grinned at that, rolling her eyes and sitting down at the table across from him. John was between them on her left, looking at his own plate with confusion. “Not that I’m not grateful” he began carefully, “But what is it?” Sherlock bit his lip to stop himself from being rude. Rose shuffled, “I’m not sure” she confessed, “Mrs. Hudson left a pan of it for us, I froze it, and uh” she looked down at the brown Stew? Soup? Slop? “This is it.” John prodded it suspiciously with his fork, picking up a chunk of something that resembled beef. “You’re sure it’s not one of his” he nodded at Sherlock. “experiments.” Rose snorted, “Yes, certain” she took a mouthful herself. It was alright she decided- warm and thick and overly salted, but edible. “it’s fine” she said, beginning to eat at a quicker speed. John surrendered, it reminded him strangely of the canteen food from Afghanistan. Sherlock however didn’t even pick up his cutlery. Rose looked at him seriously, “Please” she requested softly. Sherlock felt a prickle of guilt. He glanced down at his serving and felt his stomach tighten. He was coming to the end of what his body could tolerate. He shook his head, he saw the reproachful look on her face. “I can’t” he told her quickly, pushing it away. Please. He thought desperately. Please don’t make me. He knew he wouldn’t keep it down. Something must’ve shown on his face, because Rose gave him a nod, and a small smile, “Ginger cake- top shelf” she looked over at the fridge. Compromise. Sherlock gave her a grateful look and stood to get himself a slice. “Why do I have to eat it” John whined with a laugh, “Because you’re a grown up” she teased with a discrete wink in Sherlock’s direction. “He can make us a cup of tea, whilst he’s up. This food reminds me of the fucking trenches” she complained suddenly, “least we can wash it down with something pleasant.” John laughed loudly, “It really does, doesn’t it?” it was easy for him to forget that Rose had served too, she’d been a military nurse in quite good standing before Mycroft had recruited her. There was a small clatter as Sherlock dropped his spoon. His hands where trembling so badly it’d slipped from his fingers. “You alright?” John asked before Rose had a chance too. Sherlock hated the feeling of them watching him. “Fine” he muttered through gritted teeth. “If it’s another headache- you know where the pills are” she advised smoothly. Sherlock looked at her, “We don’t have any left” he almost spat the words, forcing his hands to grip the kettle carefully. She looked apologetic, before she gave him a small nod, “Then just sit down- I’ll do it” he shook his head angrily. “I can do it.” She sighed, already beside him. She took the items out of his hands. “I know you can. But I am. So, go-” she nodded over to his chair. He didn’t fight her. He silently padded to his place, sitting quietly until she brought over a small plate of cake, and a cup of tea. “Headaches?” John asked when she was back in the kitchen, she took his discarded plate from the table. She shrugged, “it’s too much time spent watching that bloody screen” she glanced at his laptop- not really a lie, he did sometimes complain of migraines. John seemed satiated, as he insisted on doing the washing up- he practically swatted Rose out into the living room. She walked over to Sherlock, looking at him calmly, he’d finished the cake and had done well on the drink. “Done?” she asked him, he nodded slowly. She took his stuff over to John before coming back and sitting opposite him in the big red armchair. “Early night?” she pressed, looking at the clock, 1930. Sherlock looked up at her sadly, she could tell he was hurting. His eyes where bloodshot, it was a wonder John didn’t think he was sick with the flu- maybe he hadn’t looked at him closely enough, or maybe he’d deteriorated quickly. Either way- “How’s the rash?” she asked when he didn’t reply to her previous question. He gave her a shrug at that. It was better, he wasn’t ripping at his dressing gown, at least. “I can call Mycroft” she offered delicately, pleasantly aware of John singing along to the radio, Sherlock shook his head urgently, suddenly standing. “That won’t be necessary” he said, walking over to his bed room. She gave him a patient nod. “Alright Sherlock” she promised. “Be careful” she requested as he disappeared with a click of his door.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> long and angstridden

Around an hour after Sherlock had left, Rose decided to settle in his chair, she knew that it was an odd way of making herself feel better, of relieving the strange coil of concern in her gut, but she took it nonetheless. She wrapped herself in a blanket and flicked open a laptop. She didn’t know who’s it was until a clip of Eurus appeared on the screen, _definitely Sherlocks then_. Rose played it, more out of curiosity than anything else. It was different to the one the man had been watching a few days before- _she unmuted it_. It was a sallow song, Rose felt herself squint at the footage, Eurus was sitting down to play this time, her head hanging low, dark hair obscuring her face as she ran the bow over the strings in long sweeping motions. _Concern_. How strange, Rose thought, that _concern_ had been the first word to come to her upon hearing the woman newest offering- as she listened further, she noticed how the tune seemed to raise in pitch at random intervals, before dropping almost _frantically_ , it seemed _urgent_ somehow in it’s delivery, yet as the melody progressed it shifted, and seemed almost _hopeful_ , like the score in a tense hollywood film. As she focused, Rose knew there was another layer too, almost disguised by the more incredulous top notes- it took her a moment to be sure, but a few minutes later she was certain that she recognised the base as one of Sherlock’s compositions, he’d probably played it for her on his last visit to the facility, she glanced at the time stamp she could see that this tape was recorded over a week ago, _curious_ \- “So go on then, doctor dolittle” John joked, easing her train of thought and appearing beside her in flannel pyjamas. “What’s she got to say?” Rose felt her brow furrow, hearing the song begin to loop- “I _think she’s worried_ ” She replied honestly, her finger reaching out to caress the figure on the screen. John shifted uneasily then. “About what?” he sounded nervous, _her brother,_ she thought silently. Rose closed the computer screen, giving him a wide, reassuring smile. “ _Nothing John._ I’m probably reading too much into it” The man didn’t look convinced as he turned to sit on the sofa. But he left it alone, trusting that if the mad woman was indeed trying to convey anything of import Rose would let him know. John put the television on, and Rose almost fell sleep in the seat, her legs tucked up under her chin, the background noise droning on, and on, and on making her eyelids heavy.

 

“ _Rose!_ ” a voice called out. Rose blinked, she must have dozed off- “Rose!” it repeated a little more urgently. She opened her eyes fully, sitting upright with a start- “For god sake Rose, _help me!_ ” It was John, she realised. He was crouched over a body on the floor- _panic_. She jumped up, rushing forwards to the scene. _Pulse, breathing- “_ Sherlock!” John bellowed, realisation dawned on her as she crouched down on the left side of the collapsed detective. Rose reached down for his wrist, “Keep still please” She requested calmly. It was a false serenity, but she hoped some of it would rub off on John. The doctor was frantic, struggling to find anywhere to get a decent feel of the man’s heart rate. Even in his semiconscious state Sherlock rolled his eyes. “ _not-doing-iton-purpose_ ” he hissed through a clenched jaw. His whole body was convulsing- “ _Jesus Sherlock,_ are you high?” John was staring at the man’s eyes, Rose snorted then, looking down as she counted, _123,124,125_ \- Sherlock didn’t reply, but he could feel himself trying to struggle against the way the doctor was pinning him down by his shoulders, shining his phone torch into his face. “ _You’re bloody wired_ ” John assessed, “ _bloody hell_ ” he murmured, “Pulse is 155” Rose announced. “ _Not good_ ” John grumbled, his hands shaking now. “ _bloody not good-”_ “John” Rose said firmly. “Stop it, _just back off_ , let him get some air” She sat back on her own haunches, “Rose-” John tried to argue, she just held her gaze firm until he obeyed, stepping away and standing upright. She directed her attention back to the quivering man on the ground. “What’s happening?” she asked him patiently. Sherlock tried to inhale steadily, but it caught in his throat, he made a moved to try and sit up but his arms fell weakly, causing him to fall back with an unceremonious thud. “ _I-Something-somethings’ wrong_ ” he managed. She nodded, watching him- “Wrong how?” Rose pressed, Sherlock blinked away tears, unable to hold them back- “ _Idon’t_ -Idon’tknow-I _think_ -I- _am-_ ” he gave up, his voice was cracking and it hurt. Rose shook her head, pressing a hand to the back of his head. _Hot. Very hot. 38.9? “_ John- get me a thermometer.” The doctor nodded rushing off to the kitchen, “it’s okay” she soothed him, he looked afraid, she could read it on his face. He looked at her desperately, he wanted to believe her- “it’snot” he forced, “ _something’swrong_ ” he insisted. She gave him a nod, “Okay, Sherlock, it’s alright- _I’ve got it_ ” John arrived handing her a plastic device, she pressed it on and held Sherlock’s head still as she forced it into his ear waiting for a beep. “Bloody hell” John muttered, running a hand through his hair. “38.7” Rose reported, _better_. “Okay, Sherlock, what did you take?” she pressed, releasing him, “ _Hey_ ” she called, “ _look at me_ ” he tried to, it was hard to keep his eyes open. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, he could feel the blood rushing urgently round his body, but he couldn’t move other than to shake uncontrollably- it was like he was cold, but his body just wanted- _needed_ \- everything to _stop_. “Good” she praised as he focused on her face, she was familiar, and kind, and Sherlock latched onto her eyes, if he was going to die here, on the floor of his flat, of a cardiac arrest of his own causing then at least he’d get to have them as the last thing he saw. “Listen to me” she said forcefully, he _was_ listening. “What did you take?” Sherlock opened his mouth to plead with her. _Don’t make me say it. Don’t make me say it. Please. Don’t make me say it, not here, not with John._ She shook her head. “Obviously I know _, what_ \- but something’s different- _was it a new dealer? was it more than you’ve been taking in one go? what’s changed?_ ” Sherlock tried to reply, “-notmore _-n-new_ ” she nodded, telling him she’d got it- “ _John_ , in his room, check the bed, the floor whatever- _I need to see it”_ John did as she said. “ _I’mscared_ ” Sherlock told her honestly. He didn’t care anymore. “I know” she told him with a small smile, “It’s alright” he shook his head violently. “ _I-_ ” Rose hushed him gently, her hand running up to stroke his damp hair back away from his face. “Just breath” she told him. “You’re going to be okay” he could feel tears refilling his eyes as he closed them. Doing his best to follow her advice. _In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. “_ Here” John said, throwing her a small plastic bag of sticky brown beads. She grabbed it quickly, her hands leaving Sherlock’s head. The detective felt himself let out a whimper at the loss. John seemed to sense his distress as he repositioned himself back in front of his face. “You’re going to be just fine, Sherlock” he promised. He was doing his _patient_ voice. Rose stuck her finger into the stash with a swift motion, bringing to her lips quickly. _Salt_. She raised her brow, _not right._ She looked at Sherlock from the side John wasn’t obstructing- “Is this the first time you’ve used _this?_ ” he gave her a nod. She returned it, her hand running through her hair, chemical formula of morphine _C17H19NO3 + Sodium NaCl = Cl27H19NO4a. Cl27H19NO4a._ She sighed. “It’s been cut” she told the men- “they’ve thinned it with sodium chloride- _you can fucking taste it,_ so there’s obviously laced with good amount- it’s harmless, but it it dehydrates the blood, it means it’s _strong_ , Sherlock, like twice as strong as it would have been- it’s been a while, you’ve been taking a lot as it is” Sherlock understood. _He was overdosing._ “Stop” she aimed for a gentle pitch but missed slightly, sounding more commanding than she’d hoped for as she moved John’s hand away from the man’s brow. “How much?” she asked urgently, Sherlock blinked, she feel the embarrassment radiating away from him in waves. “Sherlock” she pressed, “It’s important” he hissed a breath, “ _m-_ maybe- _7, 8mls_?” he guessed, everything was blurry, he couldn’t focus on anything when every fibre of his being was repeating one panicked thought, _I don’t want to die._ Rose nodded, her eyes closing, her eyelids flickering as she did the calculations. “For fucks sake Sherlock” John blurted out, “In one go?” Sherlock averted his gaze, trying to see Rose past the clouding in his vision. “Supposing it’s 8, with the extra chloride it should be equivalent to 16.78mls” She was as certain as she could be, with all the given variables. “ _You should be dead”_ John exhaled, his eyes rolling back, his temples throbbing. Sherlock felt his head twist towards that, _I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die._ His eyes where wide and pleading the man to take his comment back- to laugh and say everything was going to be alright, that he was just being an idiot. “No” Rose inserted quickly, “He’s got a tolerance-” she sounded calm, Sherlock moved to face her again with a mewl of effort and discomfort. “You’re 8 months in” She addressed him then, seeing the way we was staring at her through wet lashes, “this is _a lot,_ Sherlock _-_ but it’s not a lethal dose, _not for you_ ” she was making eye contact. _Promise me? please. Please promise me._ Rose reached out to stroke the man’s sweat coated cheek with a gentle flick of her wrist. “ _8?_ ” John repeated the word, angry. “8 bloody months?!” he demanded. “Not now” Rose commanded. “ _8!_ ” he shouted, before he caught himself. “this is it right? this stops now?” he looked directly at Sherlock. _I don’t want to die. “_ Sherlock!” John shouted, “Look at me, and tell me this ends tonight” the mans voice was thick with anger. Sherlock made his eyes find the source of the noise. The look of disappointment on John’s face made him want to close them. “ _yes_ ” he exhaled, “ _Jesus christ_ ” Watson sighed, “John” Rose said firmly. “Shower, _now_. Cold- we need to lower his temperature- then in his room, set up an aseptic field- I might have to set up and IV” John rushed off to full-fill her requests, “ _Sherlock-_ ” Rose called, he blinked at her sadly, his eyes where bloodshot, his pupils dilated to the point of being more black than blue-“Do you want to go with Mycroft? When we’ve got this under control?” _NO_. He couldn’t vocalise a response, but his arms moved up, his hands grabbing at her wrists desperately. His head started to shake. “No?” she checked, he was breathing heavily through his nose. “ _Please_ ” he whimpered, “ _Ican’t_ ” She nodded in understanding. “Okay, _it’s alright_ -I’ve got you” she assured him, moving to pull him to his feet. His body burned angrily and his vision shorted as he adjusted to being upright. “ _Come on_ ” she urged, taking slow steps towards the sound of the running shower. “-That’s it-” she encouraged, practically carrying him into the small tiled room. He felt his arm reaching out, his nails scraping against the wall paper as he tried and failed to aid Rose in supporting his weight. “ _I thought junkies where supposed to be light_ ” she huffed, Sherlock tried to laugh, he wanted to, but he couldn’t do much more than groan as they continued on their route. “ _In you go_ ” she instructed quickly as they approached the bath. He tried again to lift his weight, but struggled to keep his legs locked into position, he kept tripping over his own feet, the felt strangely like dead weights- Rose ended up contorting herself around his body to lower him into the tub, adjusting the stream of cool liquid until it was running down his back rather than his face. “ _There_ ” she soothed- He landed as well as could have been expected, his body jolting as he curled up, his head was settling between his bent legs, his arms wrapped around himself loosely, he looked up at her with pleading eyes, his teeth chattering. “ _I know_ ” she promised, “ _I know-”_ “-Rose!” John called, “Phone!” Rose rolled her eyes. “Not now!” she shouted back. The man appeared in the room holding her mobile, “it’s Mycroft” she laughed sourly. “Does he have this bloody place bugged?” she muttered, “Speaker phone” she instructed, John gave her a nod, pressing the button. “Shall I send a car?” He asked bluntly. Sherlock looked up, utterly panic stricken as another wave of tremors shook his body. “No” Rose answered firmly. “ _I told you Mycroft_ , he doesn’t want to go” the man sighed through the hand set. “ _Unfortunate_ , Can he hear me?” he checked, Sherlock looked up, “Yes” he forced as loud as he could manage over the rushing water, “ _Good_. You are making a poor choice, Sherlock- _one of many_ , _I know_ , _but still- you should reconsider._ ” Sherlock didn’t reply. Just tucked his head back between his knees. “It’s fine, Mycroft” Rose promised the man, approaching the handset. John was watching from the doorway. “We both know that Dr. Watson is not aptly _qualified_ to handle Sherlock in withdrawal-” He said firmly. “You’ve witnessed it, Rose, surely you can understand my trepidation-” she snorted. “I witnessed a locked door, Mycroft- and regardless of John’s capabilities- _I_ am more than capable of handling this situation.” Mycroft didn’t leave much of a gap then. “You have not taken a day off from my employ in 6 years, Rose. Last month you requested one week for your brothers wedding, I have every intention of giving you that bre-” She ran a hand through her hair. “ _I cancelled my flights over a week ago, Mycroft-_ the lack of servaliance is flattering, by the way.” the stunned silence from the man would have made her laugh under other circumstances. “He’s your brother- _He’s my friend_. I’ve got this, I promise” Mycroft swallowed uncomfortably. “I could always send some men to extract him” he offered, she knew it wasn’t a threat as much as a way of her backing out should she wish to change her mind. She did chuckle then, emptily. “ _You could try_ ” she countered, “but, do you have enough?” Mycroft hummed considerately, as though he really was trying to decide wether he had enough people whom he could send to complete the task- “I thought you vowed to never get involved in our family disputes” _Unless they endanger the safety of the state._ Rose rolled her eyes, relaxing into her small victory. “ _that_ would constitute more of a kidnapping than a domestic disagreement.” Mycroft made a sound that resembled a cough. “ _Fine then_ , if you insist on pursuing this _idiotic_ course of action, I give you my sincerest thanks, and wish you good luck. _Please_ , keep me updated and don’t hesitate to contact me should you change your mind” Rose hung up. “ _Not qualified_ ” John muttered irritated, what did Mycroft mean that he wasn’t qualified _\- “I’m a bloody doctor_ ” Rose shook her head, “Don’t take it personally” she told him, crouching down by Sherlock’s side. The man hadn’t altered his position. “Personally?” John repeated, “ _Jesus Christ-_ ” Sherlock looked up, through his dripping hair, “Please John” his voice was barely audible, but the man’s face dropped in response. He gave a slow nod, “ _Sorry_ ” he said, “ _I’m sorry_ ” Sherlock turned back into his legs, still shaking violently. His pyjamas’s where soaked, clinging to his skin, ballooning with cold water. “Go and make some tea” Rose suggested, looking at John with sympathy- “ _Yeah, tea, okay_ ” he didn’t replied, steading himself as he turned to, leave the room- the door closed quietly behind him. Rose took a moment to watch Sherlock before she knelt down by the side of the bath, “ _See_ ” she soothed, reaching out to feel the heat of Sherlock’s skin, _better_. He shook lightly under her fingers,“you’re not going anywhere” she promised with a small smile. He forced his neck to turn, to look at her properly. She was being genuine. He felt tears swell in his eyes, and was grateful for the little disguise the water offered as they spilt down his cheeks. “Wan’t me to go for a while?” she offered calmly, knowing he likely wanted privacy, to her surprise he shook his head, gripping her hand, keeping her arm on his legs, he pressed his face down onto her palm and closed his eyes. “ _please_ ” he murmured, “ _stay_.” _I can’t do it again. Not again. Not on my own._ Sherlock realised that he didn’t much care about his vulnerability anymore. He was too far gone for that- his basic instincts where taking over and forcing him to _crave_ the security of contact from someone he trusted. _He trusted Rose_. More than he’d thought it was possible to trust another living thing. She didn’t try to move again after that, until Sherlock began to wretch, his legs parting as he vomited heavily between them, at which point she altered her stance, coming up to rub his back as he continued to heave until nothing but thick acidic liquid burned up through his throat and nostrils. He met her eyes sadly, she offered him a kind look, reaching up to guide his neck back so the stream of water could clean his face. He rested back down, panting quickly as he tried to feel the weight of his head on his thighs. “Cold” he chattered after another 10 minutes, his teeth where rattling against each other now- she put the back of her hand against his brow. _38.1?_ he waited patiently for her verdict, his eyes dropping closed. _“_ Okay” she decided, he blinked his heavy eyelids open as she reached down to help him stand, she was very careful to not grip his arms as she brought him to his feet, grabbing a towel from the door and wrapping it around his shoulders. “John” she called, waiting for the knock that announced his arrival. “Yeah?” He answered her when he was outside. “Pyjama bottoms, please” she requested, still supporting Sherlock as he swayed uneasily on his feet. There was a pause, some rustling and then a push against the door, a folded bundle of cotton passing through the crack. “Thank you” she said honestly, receiving them. “Can you manage?” she asked Sherlock patiently.He moved his arms but stumbled backwards, she caught his back as he looked at her apologetically. “Okay” she assured him, “Come on then” she cooed, half holding him as she moved to peel his wet top away from his arms, he was relatively cooperative as she undid the buttons and moved his limbs, the sodden cotton fell to the ground with a loud splat. Sherlock felt his stomach tense, he swallowed in expectation of another round of puking, thankfully, he managed to ride out the feeling out as Rose moved quickly, helping him bend his legs, out of the old bottoms and into the new. “ _Better?_ ” she checked after he’d caught his breath. He was drying off quickly, his skin was cooler now, and that was a relief. He didn’t reply, but he reached down for her hand. _Pathetic_. Mycroft’s voice scolded from somewhere in his subconcious as he laced his shaking fingers through her steady ones. Sherlock ignored it, hissing in the humid air through his nose. Rose looked down at the gesture fondly, she raised her brow and gave him a small chuckle the sound was affectionate as opposed to mocking and he could feel her thumb stroking the back of his hand as she wrapped her other arm around his bare wasted and helped him stumble back to his room. She flipped the lightswitch, and he felt his head turn violently away from the light, it was too bright- his eyes scanned the room, everything was how he’d left it, apart from the bedside table; thecigarette case that had held his paraphernalia had vanished, and the books and side lamp had been placed on the floor. There was a paper sheet covering the wood, and there was a methodically arranged display of medical tools sat upon that. _Aseptic field._ “Sit” Rose requested softly, releasing him to perch on his mattress. He looked up at her, feeling his body restart in its convulsions. He locked his jaw. “ _Heres the deal-_ ” she crouched to his level. “If you can keep the water down- no line” she flicked her head to the set up beside her. “ _if not_ , then I’ll have to get one in” he grimaced, “- _I don’t think-it’s possible_ ” he tried to explain. She raised her brow, looking at his arms carefully, “Can I?” she asked softly, reaching out to his right arm, he gave meagre nod, trying to tense his muscles, she ran a gentle finger over the skin, he was vibrating under her finger tips, she pressed down lightly, the dull ache was worse than before, and Sherlock jerked away. “ _Right_ , okay” she exhaled, letting him curl his arm protectively against his bare chest, “I can see two, that I could try” she told him honestly, “I wouldn’t attempt the left- and your hands still _look_ feesible” she saw the curl of his fingers at her words. “But just _try_ first, yeah?” she passed him a small glass of water, before he could feel ashamed of his lack of ability to hold it, he saw the small plastic straw, she brought it to his lips silently, he parted his mouth with his eyes closed and sucked, trying to swallow the liquid. He got it down, however as she retracted her hand he felt his gut tighten unhappily, before he could do anything else he wretched violently between his legs. Luckily, she’d anticipated this possibility and had already put an empty bucket into position beneath his head. The mixture of water and stomach acid burned his throat as he continued to gag uselessly until nothing came up. She sighed sadly, pushing his hair back out of his face, “ _Okay_ ” she murmured, “guess you get to be lazy” he looked up at her, shamefully grateful for her joking. “ _John_ ” She called calmly, handing Sherlock a tissue. He his grib was clumsy as he held it, trying to wipe his face. He did what he could before dropping it. “-Can you bring the thermometer?” she added, as an afterthought- _best to check._ It didn’t take long for John to enter the room, he looked _a little less uncomfortable_ , Rose thought. And he quickly straightened up, muscle memory taking over as his professional persona emerged. “ _Here you go_ ” he handed her the utensil. She gave a small nod of thanks as she pushed it into Sherlock’s ear. “How are you doing Sherlock?” John crouched beside her. The taller man let his eyes look over to his oldest friend. He rolled them deliberately. “ _Fantastic, John_ ” he hissed, the sarcasm was more effort than he’d have deemed it worth- _except for John’s smile._ The relief that was plain on the mans face made the physical discomfort he’d experienced seem like a small price to pay. “37.9” Rose said approvingly. “ _Good_ ” John exhaled, relaxing further at the definite improvement “ _That’s good”_. Sherlock let his eyes close at the familiar pressure of a tourniquet around his right arm. “ _John_?” Rose asked, “Want to find a vein?” she was genuinely asking. John laughed, shocked, “ _God no_. I’m a doctor- Nurses usually handle that, _more than_ , more than we do anyway” she nodded, looking at Sherlock patiently as she put on a pair of latex gloves. “Okay Sherlock” She addressed him, “I’m going to feel around a little, and if I find something I’m going to go in-I’ll try twice, then I’m done and we’ll go in the hand, alright?” he felt his body shiver, but forced himself to nod, “ _alright_ ” he muttered, more for John’s benefit than hers. “John you can assist right?” she asked, “ _Yeah_ , Yeah, Sure _\- I can do that_ ” he moved away from Sherlock towards the array of medical items he’d laid out earlier. “ _Sorry_ ” she muttered as Sherlock flinched. _It hurt._ Her pushing down on his bruised flesh, _hurt_ \- he felt _ridiculous_ , he realised- after all he’d done to himself, he was simpering at the feeling of a broken vein. “ _Sharp_ ” she warned him, pushing the needle into his skin. He let a quiet hiss escape his lips as he tried to stop his body from jolting. She pulled back to see a small amount of red fill the syringe, but as she adjusted, it stopped, _broken_. She frowned, pulling out. “I don’t think they’re viable” John advised quietly from her side. She made a noise of agreement, “ _One more go_ ” she said calmly, Sherlock bit down on his lip until he tasted blood. “ _Sharp_ ” she repeated, going deeper. A cry escaped Sherlock then. She hushed him softly, drawing back more blood. “Got it- John, _flush_?” she requested, he moved swiftly, trying to flood the small plastic tube with water. It was blocked. Sherlock could feel it stinging and knew that vein had gone as well. “ _Fuck_ ” Rose muttered apologetically, she withdrew completely. “I’m sorry” John said honestly. “ _No_ ” Rose comforted him. “I _t’s not your fault_ ” She assured him, not wanting him thinking that it had been a failure on his part. He smiled appreciatively, watching as she took a look at Sherlock’s hands, “Preference?” she asked the quaking man. He nodded to the left, “ _Favourite_ ” she teased him fondly. He made a desperate, choked noise in the base of his throat, so she gave his palm a discrete squeeze. He could feel the smooth barrier of latex skimming his skin as she traced a pattern across his hand “ _Better_ ” she noted, her eyes mapping out the arrangement of blue lines. “If you say so” John said, somewhat disbelieving. She hummed quickly, “I’m just gonna go, okay?” she asked Sherlock. He gave a sharp nod as she broke the skin. He fought the urge to rip his hand away, it shouldn’t have been as agonising as it was. As John moved quickly to fill his vein with water he considered why everything was so much more intense than it should be. He didn’t have long to think before his chest was once again wracked with intense tremors that took the breath out of his lungs. “ _Good_ ” Rose said finally, applying a final strip of tape and discarding the gloves in the sick bucket. “ _Done_ ” she looked at John, “ _Do we have a hammer? and a nail?_ ” John blinked at her, confused, “ _Uh_ , somewhere, yeah, probably” he was still flapping around.- “Find them-” she instructed curtly, knowing that the directness was likely to produce a more effective result. He nodded and quickly ducked out of the room, “ _yeah, okay, alright_ ” he muttered to himself as he left.

“It’s the adrenaline” she told Sherlock calmly as she grabbed a bulging bag of saline from underneath his bed- “It’ll pass-” she promised, clicking the end of his newly installed IV into the tubing attached to fluids. “Quite quickly now, I suspect” she gave him a smile then, holding the sack up to watch it start to drain. “Here!” John announced, “Nail and hammer” he sounded proud as he gave her the tools. She nodded, accepting them quickly- she took the sealed edge at the top of the water filled sack, and positioned it on the wall above Sherlock’s bed. It was maybe 4 inches above the headboard and a little more towards the left hand side of the room- She used a nail to secure it in position, it took 2 hard strokes with the hammer for it to be effectively pinned to the concrete. “ _There_ ” she announced happily. John looked at her in confusion, “ _Well we don’t have any drip strands_ ” she explained with a roll of her eyes. Sherlock could barely hear them now. His arm’s felt cold, a strange tingle was spreading through his veins- “I’ll leave you to it then” John said awkwardly, _he hated this, not knowing how to help._ Rose nodded swiftly, aware of the fact that the doctor would be eager to leave. “ _Thank you, John_ ” Sherlock forced himself to choke out as the shorter man put his hand on his bedroom door handle. His words where slurred but John offered him a smile, anyway- “Just, get some rest” John countered, his voice was sad, and still a touch concerned, but it was better than it had been earlier. He let the door close behind him as he paced back towards the living room. 

“Lie down” Rose instructed calmly, helping Sherlock shift himself up to actually _lay_ on his bed. He tried to give her a nod, but his neck felt too tight. She chuckled as she lifted his legs, letting them unfold onto his sheets before she rolled him onto his side- “Comfy?” she teased, coming closer to his face, he looked at her, his vision was blurring, his lids heavy, “ _I-Idon’t”_ Sherlock was starting to worry again, he could feel his body urging towards sleep, but his chest was still pounding, his body still shaking- “Don’t worry” Rose hushed him quietly, sensing his displeasure- her hand reached out to stroke his damp curls away from his face. “ _Your bodies just trying to even itself out_ ” she told him, “you’re coming down- the fluids are helping to flush some of it out- your adrenaline is crashing- _just breath_ \- you’ll sleep it off” she was certain, he could hear the promise in her voice, and he could feel the warmth of her hand on his head. “ _That’s it_ ” she praised as he closed his eyes. “ _don’t_ -” he tried to plead, _don’t go._ “Stop” she told him softly, “Sleep now Sherlock, It’s alright- _You’re safe_ , I promise” his body gave a weak attempt at a tremor, even his muscles where struggling to hold on to the tension they’d been overcome with just moments before- “ _Rest_ ” she insisted, watching for the rise and fall of his chest become more rhythmic, “ _Good_ ” she sighed, waiting for a few minutes to pass before she finally stood up, moving slowly as she paced towards the light. She flipped it off, leaving his room only illuminated by the small bedside lamp on the floor, she turned back, giving the now sleeping man one last look of assessment, she hummed in approval before turning way fully, leaving the door open a crack as she went to join John on the sofa.


	11. Chapter 11

“Bloody hell” John mumbled as Rose fell down in a slump at his side. “ _Bloody hell”_ she agreed with a small smile. He gave a grim chuckle, “What happened?” She asked, nodding over to the floor where Sherlock had clearly fallen. John shrugged, “He just, came out and-” he blinked, “went down” Rose snorted, “ _Idiot_ ” John didn’t dispute her jab, even if it was a bit of a low blow. “You know what I mean” she altered, he gave her a nod, _he did know_. She let her head fall back against the leather cushions “ _so you knew then?_ ” John coughed, standing to walk over to the kitchen. She didn’t look at him. “Yeah” she admitted finally, “ _I knew_ ” John didn’t look surprised, just a little _disappointed_. “You didn’t tell me.” he said, Rose blinked at him then, “No.” she agreed, almost apologetically. He made a strange noise and reappeared with two mugs. He handed her one, and she accepted it with an uncomfortable smile. “did he ask you not too?” John pressed once he’d resumed his position. Rose inhaled the steam from the tea, “In a way” she answered. “No wonder you and Mycroft get along so bloody well” he muttered, “You’d make a damn good politician” Rose chuckled, raising a brow. “You think so?” John joined her then, laughing quietly despite himself. “No” he conceded, “though I’m sure if you fancied it-” she sipped the hot liquid. “-it could be arranged.” she agreed. “You’ve seen _this_ before then?” He brought their subject back to the unpleasant matter at hand- “ _him_ , before, I mean” Rose hummed, “Not exactly-” “-Rose” John insisted. “Please- just- _answer me_ ” She inhaled, giving him a nod. “It was the last time, he you know- _did this._ Mycroft stepped in when it seemed like he was going too far- dropped him off in an unfurnished house somewhere in Hampstead- I was told I was going to be doing surveillance, I suppose I was, _in a fashion…_ ” her voice trailed off as she seemed to glaze over in thought. John nodded in understanding, “ _anyway_ ” she coughed, “-I was given very specific instructions- _I was to sit by the door to the room where Mycroft had secured his brother’s position- I would not interact with Sherlock- I would wait until he was asleep to deliver food and water, and if I was concerned that he was in imminent danger I would call for help-_ ” John tiled his head, “If you couldn’t go inside how would you know if there was any danger?” Rose looked up, “ _Oh_ ” she exhaled, “There were cameras, I was to watch the screens as often as I could” she smiled, “I thought that was _obvious_ , apologies” she wasn’t being rude, John knew, so he nodded, “Right- so you were sat outside a locked room, _with people watching-_ ” “- _no_ ” she corrected, “It was just me. Mycroft didn’t want anyone else to see-” she drank from her glass. “- it was a little over a week before I was reassigned, at that point Sherlock seemed alright-he turned away from the door when he wanted food- he wasn’t _begging_ or _trashing_ the place anymore-” John ran a hand through his hair. “So you saw him, _suffering_ , like that and just had to, _watch?_ You didn’t tell him you where there?” his tone was quiet, verging on judgemental, but she wasn’t convinced that the disapproval was aimed at her- Suddenly Rose was overcome by a flash memory, _Sherlock’s voice weak and pleading, crying out for someone, anyone to just tell him that he wasn’t on his own. She felt her hand pressing the wooden door open a crack, she felt the heat of his tear covered cheek pressing desperately against her palm for any kind of comfort as she slipped it into the room-_ “Yes” she lied calmly, blinking back to the living room. _Tortuous_. “Does he know?” John asked after a pause, Rose shifted, “he does now” she decided, “He’ll have always been aware that he had been _supervised_ -” “-but not by you” John altered. She gave him a hum of agreement, “Not by me.” she agreed, “ _Why couldn’t Mycroft?-”_ John went to question, Rose tiled her head at him. “He was indisposed.” she answered quickly. “He doesn’t like to be too close-” “- _he’s his brother for gods sake_ ” John felt angry then, _angry at the absent man who had quite happily forced a woman he cared for to sit and watch his brother go through something horrific whilst not only could she not do anything to help, but he was probably too busy playing golf to care-_ “at least he sent someone he trusted” she offered, as if it helped. _She knew it didn’t_. There was another brief silence, neither of the people particularly wanting to be the one to speak first, “Not qualified” John mumbled, not being able to leave it to go unquestioned. Rose tilted her head, “What did he mean? _Mycroft_ , when he said that I am _not qualified_ -” She placed her now empty mug on the coffee table, still staring vacantly into the distance. “He’s still _high,_ you know?” she nodded towards Sherlock’s bedroom, “This is just the beginning- _it’s not your medical prowess he’s doubting”_ she wanted him to understand, but he just looked at her with a confused expression. She rolled her eyes. “ _Unfurnished, John_ ” she sighed, he looked at her blankly, she reminded him of Sherlock, he realised, in that moment, he could almost have been convinced that she was Eurus in another disguise-“Have you ever taken heroin?” Watson opened his mouth to say no, the question had taken him off guard- “I don’t mean like _that_ ” she looked over again, “ _With your shoulder, I mean? Morphine?_ ” John gave a small nod, then. “ _Yes_ , _okay_ , I have.” she smiled sadly, “So you remember waking up, then, _after your dose?_ ” he narrowed his eyes, “I do.” he confirmed. “Imagine that, but you’re coming round in a strange room- _it’s empty, unfamiliar, and you’re alone_. Completely and utterly away from anyone, or anything you recognise-” she felt her eyes close. “-then you get the flu, _it’s worse than the flu I expect, really- but it works for this analogy-_ and you need to _make it stop_ - _but you can’t get out- the door’s locked, and you only get food, or water when you’re not awake-_ ” “-Okay.” John cut in with a shudder. “I get the picture.” Rose shook her head. _You don’t._ “Then, _you’re Sherlock._ ” she continued, as though John had never interrupted her “-but there’s nothing for you to do- _nothing to distract you, nobody to reply to you when you’re shouting and searching-_ ” John nodded, his stomach dropping. “He made a mess, then?” he offered, taking a risk and placing a hand on her thigh, luckily she just blinked herself back into the room, giving him a sad smile and a hum of agreement. _Mess_. She pictured the destroyed furniture, _Sherlock’s hands bloody, his nails scratched down to the bed-_ “Not this time, though” she swore, to nobody in particular. John tilted his head, “I believe Mycroft was concerned for our physical safety, he thinks that Sherlock could pose a threat-” she explained, “he’s wrong.” She finished. John gave her a nod, staying quiet in anticipation of her explanation - “in the past scenarios there have been factors contributing to that reaction-” she told him, “ _Fear, confusion, isolation-_ ” John discarded his own cup with a dull clatter. “-the symptoms of withdrawals from a medical perspective are _unpleasant_ ” she acknowledged, “-but not cause for aggression, until they’re paired with the others” John sat back. _Horrified_. Rose found herself at a loss for words for a few minutes, her brain rushing to catch up with the developments in their situation- “ _He meant well_ ” Rose murmured, referring to Mycroft- she was unsure of why that’s what her brain had landed on in regards to speech, but she was unbothered. “I’m sure” John scoffed with a sarcastic snort, she felt her brow furrow at his clear discomfort, she took a breath and watched the man for a few moments before opening her arms in invitation, he looked shocked, and then disbelieving, but eventually he moved in, accepting her embrace and hiding his face against her neck. “ _Ive got it_ ” she promised him, “ _He’ll be okay_ ” her voice was a whisper, but John nodded against her nonetheless. “I know.” he agreed, not pulling back, he was relishing in the feeling of her arms around his back, holding him constant and steady- “You should go to bed” she suggested after a few minutes of quiet, when she was pleased that the shake in the doctors left hand had stilled against her. “You’re due at the clinic in-” she looked behind herself at the clock, “ _4 hours_ ” she finished, moving away with a final stroke of his arm. “ _Bloody hell_ ” the man complained, Rose chuckled kindly. “Go” she insisted, “I’ll check on him before I turn in for the night” He accepted her instruction, partly because he was _tired_ , too tired for an argument on the topic of if his exhaustion had been caused by sleep deprivation or a sudden drop in endorphins, and partly because it was easier to just do what he was told.


	12. Chapter 12

Rose spent fifteen minutes sat on the floor beside Sherlock’s bed, watching the man sleep, at first she’d told herself it was to count his breathing, but after the first minute that stopped being a viable excuse, _still_ , it was the one she’d use if confronted. She pressed a careful hand to his brow, he didn’t stir. _37.7?_ There was no need to disturb him with taking a different reading, he felt alright, and she couldn’t bring herself to rob him of little rest he was getting. She checked his IV, making sure the bag was still draining effectively, _it was._ And then she just sat, unmoving until she finally felt able to walk away, leaving the door open a few inches as she walked into her own room, where she closed her eyes, and fell asleep on top of her covers. 

 

Sherlock had found himself stirring awake a few times during the night- his body had for most part remained out of his control, so he’d remained in a tight fetal position as his consciousness had drifted in and out of focus- time had always felt abstract whilst he was using, even more so, when he was _tired_ ; When he’d first heard voices, he’d payed them no mind, assuming he was in some kind of dream;…. _you didn’t tell me …. specific instructions…obvious…apologies.…. no..just me…. just watched….suffering…. not again…_ the second or maybe third time he’d found himself semi aware was when he’d felt the strange sensation of being watched, paranoia was something he’d experienced before, though, _especially_ when he was in state like he’d found himself in, so he’d stayed still, gritting his teeth as he waited for the discomfort to subside- it had, eventually, and he’d actually found himself remaining relatively undisturbed- until he was made aware of more outside noises. Familiar, voices and the jingle of keys. The fact he was picking up on the specifics of that meant he was coming round, he tried to tune it out, clinging to the escape sleep provided, “You didn’t wake me John” Roses’ voice was patient but insisting. “It’s fine- go- go on” Sherlock felt himself shift, just slightly, his body moving towards the comforting tenor- “I’ll just stick my head in” John was saying. _Footsteps_. Sherlock stayed very, very still then, as his door gave a quiet creak- he could feel the doctor’s gaze assessing him, _breathe, breathe steady._ He expected some kind of physical contact, but none came. “I’m not going anywhere” Rose promised from the doorway, Sherlock could hear the echo of her words despite her effort at lowering her volume. There was a shift in the air then, as John moved away, “If you’re sure” John checked, Rose chuckled almost silently, patting the man’s shoulder- “I am, try and grab a handful of muscle relaxants, they might come in…” the voices faded out as they moved away from his room. He tried to force his body back to sleep, his head was beginning to throb, and there was a tightness in his limbs that he knew would soon become intolerable cramping; he wanted to hyperventilate, but didn’t, choosing instead to bring his palm up to his mouth, using it to block the flow of air. “Morning” Rose murmured with a quiet knock, he opened his eyes, finally, pleased that his curtains where still drawn, “you could have said hello to John” she half scolded, pacing towards him calmly. He didn’t respond. “Been up long?” he lowered his hand, bracing himself to speak, “No” his voice was gritty, his throat sore from vomiting acid the night before, “Good” she knelt by his head, she grabbed the thermometer- “am I okay to check?” she asked, he tried his best to smile, she stroked his hair away from his ear with a gentle motion, “Do you have a guess?” She joked as the machine beeped, Sherlock considered it, “ _37.7_ ” he predicted, she grinned, “on the money” she complimented, discarding the gadget, “Feeling any better for it?” she asked, her voice was still quiet, “for now” he allowed, she nodded considerately, they both knew what was coming; his muscles would cramp, his skin would itch and burn and he’d try and scratch it away from his bones and his head would fill with pins that would try and bare there way through his skull whenever he moved, even to breath- his lungs where inflating and deflating rapidly now, he realised, anxiety of what was about to begin ripping through his chest as he gasped for shallow mouthfuls of air. “Hey” She cooed firmly, her hand reaching out to his shoulder, “you’re okay” she reminded him. He gave her a desperate nod. “What me to stop?” she asked, looking over at where she was stroking small circles on his skin. “ _No_ ” he replied breathlessly. It was helping, the feeling of her fingers was giving him something to focus on. She nodded again in understanding- “With me, okay?” she began to exaggerate her on breathing pattern. _In…Out…In…Out…In… Out…_ she kept her eyes on his, rewarding him with a smile when he managed to settle himself with her limited assistance. She maintained her affection for a few moments longer, until she was sure it was no longer required. Sherlock didn’t tell her that he _wanted_ it, all the same. “Can I see your IV, please?” she requested politely, Sherlock gave her his hand, it was shaking now, he thought it was already more pronounced that it had been the day before, he wondered if it was the lack of food in his system- “Look’s good” she told him, letting him bring it back up to his chest, “fluids are done, I’ll take your pulse for John’s sake and then I’ll take it out” she pursed her lips, “If you can keep something down” she clarified, Sherlock made a short noise of agreement, he was currently indifferent to having the needle situated in his hand, but he couldn’t help but think it might cause a problem when he inevitably began to loose control of his motor functions. “You’re being very obedient” Rose observed, her tone had an air of false suspicion as her fingers pressed on his wrist. “You should OD more often” she released him with a chuckle, Sherlock snorted, a natural smile spreading across his lips, “Is that your professional advice?” he replied sarcastically, “As my primary care physician?” Rose gave him a roll of her eyes before returning his grin, “Is that what I am?” there was teasing there, but it was fond- “You seem to have taken charge over my medical care” he noted, his throat was loosening up with use, she hummed in agreement, bringing her phone up to type absentmindedly, “What are you doing?” he asked, she looked up, “texting Mycroft” she replied honestly, Sherlock suddenly filled with fear- had he dreamt the conversation yesterday? had it been a drug or panic induced delusion? he didn’t want to go- Rose sensed his worry and shook her head, “He wanted me to keep in touch, _remember_?” he didn’t reply, Rose narrowed her eyes, “What do you remember?” He was suddenly embarrassed, not wanting to admit that he was struggling to clarify between reality and, well, not. “It’s cloudy” he confessed, unable to stay silent under her scrutiny “Well” she exhaled, settling back down, her head resting on his mattress, “Let’s go through it” she suggested, confusion wouldn’t help his state of mind, and right now it seemed as though he’d at least be able to retain some of what they discussed. He gave a nod, sharing her sentiment, “I knew something was wrong” he began, trying not to remember the precise feeling of his heart trying to hammer out of his chest, “I came to find you, you where in my chair” she rolled her eyes, _that you remember._ “I couldn’t breath” he told her swallowing against the lump that was forming in his throat, she nodded calmly, “I fell?” he checked, “you did” she agreed, “that’s when it gets difficult” he said, his voice a little quieter. She hummed in consideration, “would you like me to tell you what happened?”Sherlock gave her a careful nod, so she exhaled, “the stuff you used was cut with sodium” she reminded him, he recalled that, he thought, he remembered John shining a bright light in his eyes. “John said I should have died?” he clarified, trying to disguise the waver in his voice with a swallow. She snorted, offering him his favourite of her smiles, it was lopsided and rare; “He was being dramatic” she assured him, “But you overdid it” she scolded, he looked away, blinking before returning his eyes to hers, “you would have gotten away with it, but the extra chloride makes it-” “-Stronger.” he answered for her, she nodded again, “We put you in a cold shower” he remembered that, of the feeling of cold water chilling his bones as it soaked his clothes. “Mycroft?” he checked, this is where things got really, hazy. She rolled her eyes again, “is clearly physic” she joked, “he called when you where in the bathroom, he was on speaker phone” she confirmed, Sherlock’s pulse was increasing, “Do you remember talking to him?” she pressed gently, he looked up, “I’m-struggling to know what is factually accurate” he told her honestly, she hummed thoughtfully, understanding his use of detached language. “Then _ask_ ” she advised him kindly, he sniffed a breath in through his nose, holding it before expelling it through his lips. “He wanted to send a car?” she looked at him calmly, “Yes” she confirmed, “You said no?” he checked, she shook her head, “ _You_ , said no- You’d already made it quite clear that you didn’t want to go anywhere.” He nodded remembering the few interactions she was referring to “he insisted?” Sherlock continued, she gave a quiet laugh, “ _naturally_ ” she was smiling again now, “you where supposed to be attending a wedding?” he realised suddenly, the conversation was coming back to him now, “Don’t worry about that” she instructed him cooly, he _was_ worried about it. Mycroft had said it himself- she hadn’t had a day away from being on call for six years, and she’d cancelled a week away, _for him_. There was a heat on his hand then, it was her palm, “Sherlock-” she said seriously, “ _Don’t._ ” she insisted. He gave an attempt at a nod. “You can make it up to me when you’re feeling better” she joked, seeing that he wasn’t just going to let it go, “I only wanted to go for the dancing anyway” There was a wink then, and Sherlock felt like he came no where near to deserving it. “ _I promise_ ” he said, she hummed content at that, Sherlock steadied his breathing for a minute- “Mycroft said you’d seen me like this before?” he asked finally, his stomach tensing uneasily, “Yes” she agreed plainly, “You told him you’d seen a door” she raised her brow, “Your memory is better than you’re giving it credit for” there was a edge of accusation there, but it was quickly tempered with a soft smile, “About five years ago, in Hampstead” she clarified, Sherlock lost himself in a memory, a cloudy vision of himself on an _unfinished floor, an empty room that was the colour of concrete-sweat drenched clothes. His body was on fire. He was certain that he was going to die. He didn’t want to do it alone. He was screaming, scratching at the walls, at the door, at his arms-_ nobody was coming. “ _Hey_ ” Rose called gently, bringing him back to her, she reached out to touch his hair, As she made contact, _he was back in the grey room, the door opened, not enough for him to see through, it was bolted, not that he could have managed to stand, all his bones where broken, he was sure he could feel the splinters against his skin. But a hand came through to comfort him. He’d been sure it was a hallucination. A last pitiful attempt at his brain giving him some relief-_ “You’re not going back” Rose promised him softly, and suddenly he realised, _it had all been real_. Not the broken bones, or splinters- _he hadn’t been on fire, and he hadn’t been dying._ But the _hand_ , the _voice_ he’d heard, talking to him, telling him he was going to be okay, distracting him with obscure questions to stop him from trying to claw at his flesh- _that hadn’t been a lapse in sanity_ \- it had been Rose. “It was you?” he almost choked, his eyes were frantic as they watched her head move to give him another careful nod. “It was.” she assured him, “ _the-the hand- the voice?_ ” he checked, she hushed him, lowering her fingers away from his hair, bringing them back to form a cushion under her chin. “Was real.” she promised. “ _Mycroft_ -he would have” he tried to tell her, five years ago Rose had been working for his older brother for just over a year- She’d disobeyed his direct instructions, it was a risk she shouldn’t have taken. _Not for him._ She shook her head at that, “Like I told him at the time- can go and fuck himself” she said with a small laugh. “I did what he wanted- _he’s my friend_ , Sherlock, _he really is_ , he’s _always_ been my friend, and there’s not much I wouldn’t do for my friends-but _he’s not always right_ ” Sherlock didn’t know how to respond, he knew he would never be able to repay the debt he owed her. “ _thank you_ ” he decided at last, he blinked up her to see her shaking her head again, “don’t mention it” she instructed him kindly, he gave her a careful nod, “Is there anything else you would like me to clarify?” she offered patiently, watching the man rest down onto the bed, he pursed his lips in consideration, “I heard voices last night?” she raised her brow, chuckling lightly “Could have been me and John” she allowed, “But you were pretty out of it” she offered, “I wouldn’t read too much into it” he smiled a little then. “What were you texting?” he glanced at the phone she’d discarded on the sheets, “ _Oh_ ” she remembered, “I was telling him that you’re doing fine, _and_ I was asking him to relay that information to Eurus at his earliest convenience.” Sherlock’s brow raised then, “I think she’s been worried about you” she explained before he had to ask, “ _why_?” he pressed, she laughed dryly, “I was on your laptop- a tape from a week ago was open” she shrugged disinterested, “can’t hurt to put her mind at ease” Sherlock didn’t ask her how she’d interpreted any discontent from the footage of his sister. He didn’t care. “ _Thank you_ ” he repeated, she smiled calmly, her eyelids fluttering closed, “Your pulse is fine too, by the way” Sherlock snorted, “I know.” Rose sighed, her eyes staying shut, “So did I, but John’ll be glad of the update” Sherlock felt a stab of guilt. “Is he?-” Rose hummed, “He’s fine- just a little on edge- at the clinic” he accepted the information silently, watching in fascination as Rose stayed perfectly still in her position, her hair was hanging in a loose plait down her back, a few loose hairs hanging in front of her face, her lips where closed, her dark lashes fluttering, casting small shadows on her cheeks. “How’re your welts?” he asked with a small false cough. Rose opened her eyes then, they seemed darker today. She’d completely forgotten about them. Rose sat back on her haunches, lifting her top up to see a deep red line on her stomach. “I don’t know” she said honestly, pressing one finger down onto the mark. “Fine?” she guessed, it was sore to touch, a little hot, and when she thought on it, her skin felt tighter than normal- but it was nothing overly distracting. Sherlock didn’t look convinced, but there was little he could do, given his current position, so she dropped her t-shirt, pushing up on her bare thighs to stand. He blinked then, he hadn’t noticed that she was barely clothed. Her top half was covered in a dark long sleeved top, it was too big and hung down to cover her shorts, they seemed like cotton too- he wondered if she’d slept in them, or thrown them on when she’d been woken this morning. Rose tilted her head at him curiously, realising what he was looking at, she lowered her own eyes, almost gesturing at his own bare chest in amusement, “I’ll get you some tea” she offered calmly, “See if we can get that out of your hand” she was still smiling wide as she turned to leave. 


	13. Chapter 13

The phrase calm before the storm came to mind, Sherlock got himself up, forcing his aching body to move- he easily detached the empty fluid bag from the small port on his hand, and he slipped his arms into his old blue dressing gown. He decided that whilst he currently had the ability to walk, he should do so. It was a luxury he’d soon miss once the real withdrawal began. Rose didn’t seem shocked when he paced slowly to his chair, but she did offer him a smile when she came up to him with a hot cup of tea. She placed it on the side table. Coffee would have been preferable, but not the most suitable- _Caffeine is an irritant._ He looked into the kitchen and saw the box of Decaf teabags. He held the mug close to his body, using his core for stability as his hands gave a shake, Rose raised her brow but left him, wondering back towards her room. “Where are you going?” Sherlock asked lamely, she turned to consider him, “For a shower” she answered, “If you’re sick, just leave it” she yawned, stretching out in front of herself, “I’ll clean it later” he offered her a nod, finding her nonchalant attitude to cleaning his vomit a little strange. Sherlock drank the sweetened brew slowly, it sat uneasily in his stomach at first- but it did seem to help the tremors in his hands. Once his mug was empty and safely back on the side table he reached over for a case file, it took him a little longer than it would have normally done, but he eventually managed to flip it open and read the first set of notes-

_VICTIM(S): MASON, LEANNE.  
INJURIES: 4 X GUNSHOT WOUNDS?_

_CORONORS REPORT: Victim is 38 YOA. Female. Fatal shot appears to be gunshot wound in the neck- 3 other suspected bullet woulds found- No bullets retrieved. No traces of gun powder. Unusual damage to liver tissue- Have referred body for further examination._

“Anything good?” Rose asked with a genuine air of curiosity, Sherlock flicked his eyes up to hers, her hair was damp, hanging in strings down her back, her grey cotton top was collecting the moisture from it at the neck- “Maybe” he allowed, “You should tie your hair up” he told her, looking back down at the papers. She hummed distractedly but did as he’d suggested, pulling an elastic band from around her wrist- “Come on” she complained, “Tell me” she nodded down at the folder. He exhaled sharply, but reigned his temper back in when he saw her brown eyes shining at him from the stool opposite his chair. _“Woman, 38, killed by an apparent bullet would to the neck, three other similar wounds, but there are no signs of fragments, or any trace of powder -then there’s something about her liver_ ” he rolled his eyes. “She’s been referred.” Rose hummed, not telling him she already had three possible theories. “Probably to Molly” she said instead, hoping the possibility of a case would lift his mood. “Doesn’t matter” he grunted, throwing the folder heavily to the ground. Rose watched it fall with a raise of her brow. “They’ll have embalmed her before I can do an examination” he looked angry. Rose collected the papers and replaced them on the table. “What?!” Sherlock demanded, “Would you like to tell me I’m wrong?” he was almost shouting- She looked at him calmly, “I didn’t say anything” He rolled his eyes, bringing his legs up onto the chair. “Exactly” she sighed then, pacing back to the kitchen. “Is there something that you would like me to tell you?” she asked, her voice almost disinterested. “How about the two theories you already have about her murder?” he hissed- _Suicide_ , she corrected silently. “-Or you could just take this thing out of my hand.” Rose appeared in the doorway, leaning, waiting for him to calm himself down. Sherlock did, eventually, with a few deep breaths. He didn’t apologise or take back his comments, he just sat back, quietly. She nodded then, walking over. “ _three_ ” she said as she crouched down to take his hand. “of course” Sherlock hummed sarcastically. “And if it really matters- we can always ask Miss Hooper to hold onto her for you” Sherlock blinked up at her as she slid the cannula out of his skin. She passed him some kitchen roll, he pressed it down over the spot of blood. “It doesn’t matter to me” he grumbled. Rose nodded absentmindedly, wondering away to dispose of the cannula- she made a mental note to pass on the instructions regarding the keeping the cadaver to Lestrade: Molly didn’t like her much but if the request was passed on from Scotland Yard she would likely assume it was coming Sherlock. _“Hungry?”_ she asked politely, Sherlock considered her question. His body would benefit from food, but he wasn’t certain he would be able to keep it down. “That depends” he countered, “Are you going to let Mrs. Hudson try and poison me again?” she laughed quietly, already cutting a small piece of ginger cake. “Not just yet” she promised, delivering the small plate. “I’d hate to tell your brother that you died of poor seasoning” Sherlock gave a sarcastic snort, “You might find yourself suddenly out of a job” Rose chuckled in response drinking from her own mug. “doubtful” she countered, “I’m sure in his grief stricken state Mycroft would be more in need of my assistance than ever” Sherlock rolled his eyes, but ate without further prompting. “ _griefstricken_ ” he murmured, Rose shot him a stern glance. “Don’t start” she warned, “Just try not to puke” she added with a chuckle, reaching over to remove his now empty plate. Sherlock sat back again, focusing on her advice; he could feel his stomach clenching unhappily, his head was aching painfully now, and his skin was starting to prickle. “What would you like to do today?” Rose asked after a further interlude of silence. _Not this_ Sherlock thought grimly. He wondered how long he’d have before he’d have to return to his bed. He looked at the clock. _11am_. _Before John came home, then_. He was almost surprised when he didn’t feel angry at her question, and then her lack of suggestions; “Would you pass me those letters?” he asked finally, nodding over at a stack of cards, people often wrote to Sherlock, or John requesting their help on cases, Sherlock usually ignored them completely, stating that anyone who really wanted their help would come in person. _Letters are always a 4_. Rose didn’t mention that, though, because she knew it was an exercise in distraction, she supposed it was akin to reading riddles or doing a crossword. He didn’t thank her when she placed them on his lap, but he didn’t insult her either, so she took it as a victory. 

 

It was 3pm when Rose noticed Sherlock’s shaking becoming more of an issue. He dropped an envelope and couldn’t bend down to pick it up. He didn’t mention it, or ask her to retrieve it, in fact, all he did was move onto the next piece of paper in the pile. “Sherlock-” she said sadly. “ _One more_ ” he replied, there was a strange pleading in his tone, so she nodded, and returned her attention to the book she’d been reading. In fifteen minutes Sherlock was ready. “Why don’t you go and clean yourself up?” Rose suggested calmly, he gave her a nod, grimacing as he forced himself to his feet. She watched him as discretely as she could manage, as he took unsteady steps towards the bathroom. She heard the shower click on, and decided to go and get his bedroom as ready as possible- preparing the space was a simple task, really. She changed the sheets on the bed, tidied away some of the clutter, removed the used mugs from the sideboard, and placed the bedside lamp back on the table. Rose inhaled then, the water was still loud and rushing in the next room over. She ran through a mental list of everywhere she knew Sherlock hid drugs in the flat. 6 where spots in his room. She checked them all. _The slit in the mattress, the loose floorboard, the hollow book, the box in the back of the wardrobe, the bottom of his sock drawer, the urn on his windowsill_. She found 3 bags, and took them to the living room, dropping them on the kitchen table. The shower had stopped by then, but Sherlock was still in the tiled room; _shaving? dressing? sulking?_ Rose made tea, dipping the decaf bags into hot water before adding milk and wondering back to Sherlock’s room. He was waiting on the bed. His chest was glistening was moisture, his hair was wet but combed back, curls hanging softly behind his ears and his face was closely shaven, there was a small cut on his jaw from where his hands had been a little too unsteady, but she smiled in approval regardless, she placed the mugs on his side table. “Three?” she checked quietly, he met her eyes, confused, “Nine” he countered honestly, “In here?” she clarified, he exhaled, then, his breath shaky, “Oh” he nodded, “three” he agreed, she smiled then, Sherlock thought it looked a lot like she wanted to hug him, but was holding back. He could barely stand it. Thankfully, she indulged slightly, reaching out to trace her finger over the nick on his jaw, he closed his eyes at that, at the relief of the contact. “Get some rest” she suggested kindly, pulling away, “I made tea” she told him at the same time he reached up to grab her wrist. He blinked, embarrassed as she looked down at his hand curiously, “Stay” he said quietly. Rose carefully pulled her arm away, Sherlock released her. “Okay” she sighed quietly. “I’ll stay” she assured him, sitting down next to him on the bed. “ _I_ ” Sherlock coughed, a little unsure of what to say next. _I’m in pain? I don’t want to be alone? I’m scared?_ “I might not be very pleasant company” he warned her, she laughed then, “ _You?_ ” she teased. “ _never_ ” He gave her a weak chuckle, reaching over to grab the mug, his hand’s jolted unhappily, so she reached out swiftly to steady his wrist. He stabilised quickly, bringing it to his lips. “ _I-_ I might not be very nice” he insisted with a gulp. She rolled her eyes, “I wont take it personally” she promised, helping him replace the chinaware back onto the surface, “Come on” she soothed then, helping him bring his legs up onto the bed. This time, now his temperature wasn’t a concern she pulled the sheets up to his chest, sitting back down carefully by his legs. “ _Why did you-_ ” _touch me?_ he started to ask, knowing she’d know what he was referring too, “In Hampstead- why did you?-” Rose looked at him like he was stupid. “You were afraid” she told him calmly. He nodded, his head on the pillows. “ _I’m afraid now”_ he confessed his voice soft, Sherlock didn’t know what he’d been expecting to gain from his sudden exclamation, but he’d know what he’d hoped for- Rose moved quietly, walking round to the empty side of his bed, moving to kick herself under the covers beside him. He exhaled in desperate relief, he didn’t know why it felt so nice. But it did. Just having her presence next to him made him feel more grounded.


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock managed to finish his tea, with only minor assistance from Rose, who occasionally sat up and steadied his grip- they both lay in mutual silence for around an hour before Sherlock felt the first wave of cramps hit his shoulders. His head was _pounding_ , the dull light in the room was suddenly too much- his eyes burned even when he scrunched them shut and his neck muscles tightened and didn’t release. “ _Rose_ ” he mumbled desperately, he didn’t know what to do. She didn’t speak, just turned over onto her side, reaching out to stroke his hair as he hissed unhappy breaths, waiting for the wave of pain to pass. When he managed to open his eyes again, he saw hers where closed, she wasn’t sleeping though, her hand was still stroking his temple gently. “Thank you” he said honestly, she hummed in acknowledgement and retracted her arm. Sherlock turned to face her, bringing his knees up to his chest, he felt _cold_ , he realised, his body was shivering. Rose reached out silently, holding the back of her hand to his brow. _37.6?_ “You’re fine” she promised softly. He blinked at her. She gave him a sarcastic smirk, “ _fine_.” she insisted. Sherlock nodded, not having it in him to argue. It was only when the muscles in his legs began to lock that he let another whimper of pain escape his lips. Rose looked at him calmly, reaching down to stroke his thigh, it helped, the feeling of her hot hands touching his aching body, _helped_. “Thank you” he repeated, when he once again, found himself able to formulate words. She laughed then, bringing her hands back up under her own head. “You don’t have to say that every time” she told him, “It’s going to be a long few days if you do” He looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot and scared. “I’m here, Sherlock” she promised, “for whatever you need.” he gave another weak nod, and let his eyelids close. His teeth where still chattering, and the usually soft cotton of his bedsheets was scraping against the bare skin of his upper body highlighting the niggling itch that he wanted to scratch- he knew once he started it would be difficult, if not impossible for him to stop. “John can only get one dose of muscle relaxants-” Rose warned him after another spell of quiet. Sherlock looked at her sadly, she was on her phone, already typing a reply. “Pharmacy’s out, others will be closed for the weekend.” He didn’t reply. “He’s bringing what he can- do you want food? He’s getting Chinese” Sherlock wanted to cry. He didn’t know why. It wouldn’t help anything. He hadn’t even been thinking about the pills, he hadn’t used them during his previous withdrawals- it wasn’t like they’d been what he’d been pinning all of his hopes on, but now he knew they weren’t going to be there to help him, he felt like it was the biggest loss in the world. “ _I can’t_ ” he told her sadly. _I can’t do this, not again._ She nodded, sending her message before discarding her device- “Maybe tomorrow” she soothed, still referring to the offer of dinner. Sherlock gave her a nod, turning away from her in an effort to sniffle in privacy. Rose didn’t reach out, but she did send a message to Lestrade regarding the body from before, she signed it SH. and knew that he wouldn’t doubt it, Sherlock used her phone whenever he couldn’t find his own, which over the past 8 months, had been almost daily. Mycroft had replied to her previous message with a suggestion, “ _Write her_ \- the facility will receive a letter before I am able to contract them- _working_. M x” She’d replied with an okay. Rose hadn’t considered writing to Eurus, but now Mycroft had given her the idea she understood its practicality- Sherrinford was secure, but she’d written to other inmates there in the past, and there was no doubt that Eurus could read. Sherlock was shaking as she placed her phone down on the ground beside her, she realised the whole bed was moving. Rose listened- _Crying?_ “Sherlock?” she called gently, there was no change, _Crying_. Rose moved an inch closer to his position, “Can I?” she asked, reaching out, he didn’t reply vocally, but he brought a damp hand up to grab her own, he pulled her in so she was flush against his back. “Okay” she told him, getting the hint and moving her body to hold his. “It’s okay” she repeated a little softer then, she could feel him trying to stifle sobs and she could see that he was still trembling. “Cold?” she asked kindly, he gave her a lame nod. “ _Well come’re_ ” she suggested with a smile, shifting to invite him into her embrace. Sherlock processed her offer for a few seconds, he had a feeling this would be rather like the itching- He couldn’t stop himself from rolling over into Rose’s arms, his whole being just wanted to give up, to surrender to the basic _need_ for comfort. Sherlock buried his face in her chest and used his hands to hold on to her top, her arms wrapped around his back to support his position. “Better?” she checked calmly- _So much._ “Yes.” he replied quietly. The heat from her body was easing the chattering of his teeth, and the physical contact was soothing the panic that had been causing his chest to hammer. “Good” she cooed in approval, he thought there may have been some humour in her voice too, but he didn’t care. Sherlock realised that he wouldn’t have cared even if Mycroft himself had appeared in the doorway to stand and laugh at his situation. _He needed this. He needed her. He needed to be held-_ “Just breathe” Rose reminded him helpfully, “-with me-” she instructed, … _in…out…in…out…in…out_ … _in…out_ … Sherlock synced his lungs with the rise and fall off her chest. “ _Good, well done._ ” she praised, this time her voice was quieter, he noticed, she sounded _calm_ , he clung on to that- to the security and certainty of her tone. _Good_. Once he’d settled a little, he braced himself for Rose to ask him to move, for her to peel him away from her until he next became so pathetic that she pitied him with affection- “Get some rest” was all she said though, her chin was resting on the top of his head, her hands _still_ stroking his back- it was a pleasant distraction from the itch, it didn’t seem to Sherlock that him moving was a stipulation in her request. “ _you’ll stay?_ ” he asked, his voice unsteady, he could practically hear her eyes rolling, “Yes, Sherlock.” she sounded like it was obvious, he shook his head, “when I get worse?” he countered, his voice barely more than a murmur- he was _desperate_ to know what he could expect to happen when his condition inevitably deteriorated, “-I’ll stay.” she promised. He felt his chest threaten to cave in, driven this time by an overwhelming need to sob with relief at her confirmation. She shook her head softly, “ _Rest_ ” she repeated, her voice was kind and her arms where still holding him. Sherlock inhaled a deep breath to push back against his desire to breakdown. He listened to the thrumming of her heart as he feel asleep against her chest.

 

“What _exactly_ did you say they where doing?” Mycroft’s voice asked against John’s ear. The doctor looked back inside Sherlock’s room through the crack in the door, “He’s just sort of, cuddling her?” he offered the description uncertainly, he didn’t like this- spying on his friends. But Mycroft had called, and he’d made the mistake of answering. “Curious” was all the Holmes brother commented. It wasn’t curious at all, John thought. Sherlock was in pain, the natural reaction was to seek out comfort, the arms of a friend seemed like a perfectly reasonable place to find it. Clearly Mycroft didn’t understand that concept. The older man was sat at his desk, his fingers thrumming on the surface, he could hear the disdain in the doctors voice, he knew it was caused by his seeming lack of understanding involving empathetic recovery, for most people it would be second nature to surround themselves with sympathetic figures, waiting arms and the like, but Sherlock wasn’t most people. Mycroft shuffled uncomfortably, his younger brother hadn’t let anyone give him more than a strained hug since the incident- he cleared his throat “-If he becomes violent please don’t hesitate to call me” he said curtly. John rolled his eyes. “He’s fine, Mycroft. He’s not going to hurt us.” There was a hum then, followed by a rustling of papers. “I hope you’re right, Dr. Watson- Please pass on my thanks to Rose, tell her that I recommend she post her letter quickly, there is a postal strike being announced tomorrow.” “-Wait, letter? What letter?” John asked, “ _Good bye,_ Dr. Watson” was the reply he got, before the dial tone filled the line. _“_ Nothing to say to your brother then?” he muttered angrily, stepping back towards the kitchen. “John?” Rose called, her voice was quiet, but there, he paced back towards the room, pressing the door open with his hand. “Yes?” he felt embarrassed then, at knowing she’d overheard his conversation. “How is he?” Sherlock grunted from against Rose’s chest. He let a blue eye roll up to look at John. The blonde man seemed shocked at that, he clearly hadn’t expected Sherlock to be awake. “Fine, Sherlock.” John promised, edging closer to the bed. “Dopamine” the detective muttered, Rose gave a short laugh. John raised his brow. “Dopamine?” he repeated, “Yes.” Sherlock grumbled, his body giving a slight tremor. “Right” John smiled, “Of course.” He knew the detective was trying to explain his sudden desire for human affection by stripping it down to the hormonal element. “Did Mycroft call for anything in particular?” Rose asked then, changing the subject. “I don’t think so.” John replied honestly, “He said there’s a strike coming, that you should send your letter quickly?” there was a pang of questioning in his voice, but Rose just nodded considerately, “He send’s his regards” John lied to Sherlock. “Hopes you feel better soon.” The black haired man didn’t respond, just stayed in position, curled up against Rose’s side, his head on her chest. “Do you need anything?” John asked, looking around slightly uncomfortable. Rose looked down at Sherlock, waiting to see if he’d reply. He stayed still. “The pills, some water and whatever leftovers you brought back.” she listed kindly, looking at him expectantly- the red mark on the palm of his hand that signalled he’d carried a plastic bag home- the medication would have fit into his pocket, and the time he’d been gone suggested he’d eaten at the restaurant- probably trying to avoid coming home- the bag made her suspect he’d brought them some scraps. He looked as though he was going to ask how she’d known about the food, his was brow raised, eyes shining with curiosity, but instead he just closed his mouth, smiling politely as he gave a nod and left. “ _send’s his regards-feel better soon_.” Sherlock mocked quietly. His voice was muffled from the clenching of his jaw. “I know” Rose allowed, looking down at Sherlock with a smirk, “He means well” she said, finding it somewhat ridiculous that even in pain, Sherlock couldn’t let the comments pass without snide remarks. “Mycroft doesn’t-” he went to argue, shehushed him, “Not him, John.” she altered calmly. The dark haired man gave a nod of surrender, allowing himself to whimper a little as his body tensed against hers. Rose considered advising the man to breath, but he was trying his best already- his nostrils flaring as his body cramped angrily. At least he wasn’t scratching. “ _Pills_?” Sherlock grunted when he came back to himself, he looked up at Rose, she shook her her head, “he’ll be back soon” she assured the man, “then you can decide when you want them” Sherlock knew what she was talking about- he only got to use them once- the longer he could delay using them up, the better. The pain was _overwhelming_ but fluid, it came and went in waves- _that wouldn’t last much longer_. He gave her a nod. She rewarded him by tightening her arm around his shoulders, he relished in the increased pressure, letting his body shake lamely. There was a knock. Rose laughed at that, at the politeness of their flatmate. “Come on John” she teased, hoping the fondness would ease his tension. He had a black tray in his hands, he gave her a shy smile and discarded it on the space on the bed. “Sorry I couldn’t get more” he nodded at the 3 lone pills. “I’ll go to town on Monday, see if I can find a pharmacy who’ll give me some.” Rose nodded gratefully,“Hopefully we wont need them by then” Sherlock felt a bubble of hope at that. He looked up to John. “Yes. Thank you Dr. Watson” he made himself say, hoping his attempt at humour would shine through, John laughed, “God you sound like your brother” he mocked, turning to leave. “I-um” he turned back, uncomfortable again. “ _Suzie-_ Suzie has asked if I would like to see her tomorrow” Rose grinned, “Sounds fun” she said, “ _I-I don’t know-_ ” Sherlock looked up again , “Go, John.” he instructed. “Are you sure?” he asked, the dark haired man offered his friend a smile. “ _Certain_.” he promised. “ _Okay_ ” John agreed tentatively, “Alright, thank you- _both of you_ -” he looked down at the pair with gratitude. Rose shook her head and told him not to worry about it.


	15. Chapter 15

“Can you manage anymore?” Rose asked patiently, Sherlock had eaten half a spring roll, and drunk half a glass of water. He shook his head. “Are you sure?” she pressed, he bit back the urge to snap at the woman. He was sat up against his head board now and she was sitting across from him, _watching_. He wasn’t sure if it was position or the lack of physical contact that had worsened his symptoms, but his whole body was tense, and he desperately wanted to claw at his arms. His eyes darted around a little, searching for an escape that he knew wasn’t there. “Sherlock” Rose called softly, his gaze met hers. “Stop” she was fully aware of what he was looking for. “It’s gone” she sighed, he didn’t reply. Rose made a mental note to text John- Lestrade should be able to arrange a clear out of the rest of the flat, Sherlock had told her there were 9 bags in total, she’d found 3. That meant there would be 6 left, hidden somewhere in the property.When she blinked back to Sherlock, he was trying to drink more of the water, but his hand was shaking a little too badly to bring it to his lips. She reached up, taking over. “Done?” she checked, he clearly wasn’t going to eat anymore. He gave her a nod, his eyes flicking to the pills on the nightstand. He’d asked her to put them out of his reach- She sighed, standing to clear the tray, “I’ll be right back” she promised before he could object to her leaving.   
John was sitting on the sofa, the TV was on quietly, she offered him a smile as she headed into the kitchen. “I found some bags of… _you know_ , on the table?” he raised a brow. She walked over to him, her arms empty now. “Yeah, from the bedroom.” Rose watched his face drop when he realised that wasn’t all of it. “Can you call Lestrade? There are six more somewhere around here” _easier than a text, she supposed_. John gave a sad nod. “Or Mycroft can-” she offered when he continued looking unhappy, “-I just figured Lestrade would be more _delicate_ ” “-He will be” John decided firmly, _Mycroft can burn in hell._ “Thank you” she offered, “Is there anywhere you’d recommend us checking?” he asked, Rose nodded, “ _Skull, Fireplace- in the chimney, chest under the window sill, fake floorboard next to his chair-_ ” she looked over at the kitchen. “ _Tupaware in the freezer, Biscuit tin under the sink_ ” She considered if she’d missed any of his usual places. “I think that’s it.” she decided. John looked taken back but ran a hand through his hair. “ _Okay, yeah, alright_ ” she gave him a sympathetic glance. “ _Just_ , have them be thorough” Rose requested. John raised a brow, “I thought you were staying-” she nodded, “I’ll be with him” she explained, looking over to Sherlock’s room. “It’s getting worse” Rose told him bluntly. She regretted her words quite quickly when the doctors’ face fell. “ _better than the alternative_ ” she reminded him cooly. John straightened up. “Yes-” he agreed- “Yes it is.” Rose looked at him curiously for a moment before opening her arms to receive him in an embrace. “Thought you might have been all hugged out” he teased, holding her against him. She snorted lightly, _“be nice_ ” Rose murmured, she knew it was all in jest. “ _Dopamine_ ” John chuckled. She joined him then, giggling quietly against the doctors shoulder. “Quite effective, apparently.” John released her, looking at her with genuine affection before nodding back to Sherlock’s room, “Well, then” he said, “Better get back to it.” Rose bid the man goodnight, taking a minute to brush her teeth and wash her face before she returned to Sherlock’s room. He’d slipped down the bed in her absence, and was now curled up half under his covers, head in his hands between his knees. She sighed quietly, approaching slowly, “Hey” she cooed, sitting down next to the shaking man. “Sherlock” she called, he looked up, a mess of dark curls obscuring his face as his eyes tried to focus on her face. He was ashamed to admit that he had no idea how long she’d been gone- “Hello” she joked, reaching down to push his hair away from his eyes. He pushed back against her, a little more desperately than he’d meant to. “What hurts?” she asked patiently, seeing the sheer pain in his expression. “everything” he hissed sadly. She looked at him, understanding. “Dopamine?” she asked, watching as he gave a meagre nod, it was more of a twitch really, but it was all he could offer her. Internally, Sherlock was pleading for her to hold him again, to press him against her chest and tell him it was all going to be okay. But his body was burning and all he could do was try and breathe as she resumed her position next to him. She waited for this particular wave of pain to pass before she helped Sherlock to turn his body against hers, it took him a minute to adapt to the change, he found his hands back on her waist, his head against her heart, her hands on his back, one pressing calmly between his shoulder blades, the other stroking circles at the base of his spine- “Pills?” he muttered, his voice edging towards demanding. Rose looked at him calmly, “If you want” she offered, “though, _I wouldn’t_ , not whilst there’s still a break-” Sherlock heard her suggestion, and wanted to cry. He knew she was right- _logically_ , he knew it made sense for him to wait until this was at its worst before utilising the only method available for its alleviation, however, the knowledge that this was just the beginning made him feel utterly hopeless. Rose hushed him kindly, stroking his skin as he nodded in agreement. He was clinging on now, he knew he was, but Rose didn’t seem to either notice or mind as she just muttered kind words against his head. “It’ll pass” she assured him. “You know it will” that didn’t make it any easier _now_ , but it did offer him a promise of improvement. Sherlock felt his whole body contract again, though this time it was made marginally better by the feel of another person being present, reminding him that he was somewhat protected. “ _It hurts_ ” he whimpered, Rose sighed, pressing her lips against the top of his head. “I know” she agreed, “breathe it out” she instructed, he was trying, but his jaw was locked now- his teeth grinding in discomfort, his nostrils flared unhappily as he tried to feed his body with oxygen. He felt himself wretch, his body gagging from the pure _agony_ he was feeling, Rose didn’t react, didn’t pull away, just continued to praise him until he came back to himself enough to see that he’d vomited over them both. At that point she shifted a little, “I’m going to go get a cloth, okay?” she told him softly, Sherlock closed his eyes, giving her the most confident nod he could muster. Rose was back soon enough, in a clean shirt, with a cool damp cloth that she ran across his chest. It didn’t seem like more than a minute until he was back in her embrace. “ _I’msorry_ ” he whispered, burning with embarrassment. She shook her head. “Don’t worry about it” she told him- he hid his face in the crook of her neck. “Try and sleep” she advised, knowing it was a little futile, she could see the man was struggling to keep his eyes open but she wasn’t ignorant to the fact the respites he was getting from his physical symptoms were lessoning with each episode- “Icant” Sherlock whispered, “you can _try_ ” she corrected him fondly. He moaned a little but tried his best, counting her breaths until he fell into a restless unconsciousness that almost resembled a coma.


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock woke in a blaze of pain- his body was on fire- he was back in the grey room. His bones where breaking- his heart was pounding, his chest cracking under the pressure- I don’t want to die. He let out a sharp cry, an animalistic plea for mercy- Rose pushed his chin up gently, slipping three white pills between his lips, “Open Sherlock” she instructed calmly, he did as she said, trying to do whatever he was told to do, incase his lack of obedience had somehow contributed to his suffering, there was a shock of cold then as water flooded his mouth- he heard a gentle voice telling him to swallow. He did, hoping it would put out the burning embers that where clearly trying to destroy his body from the inside out- “Good” Rose praised. He’d come round suddenly, the few hours of peace had been interspersed with occasional shudders, or gasps, there had even been a few complaints- hot. cold. hurts. But this was new and terrible- he was awake, but not completely aware, his body convulsing, his head thrashing a little too wildly for it to have been voluntary- she put her hands on either side of his face. “Sherlock” she said firmly. His eyes met hers, they were full of tears- “make it stop” he begged, “please just make it stop” Rose wiped his cheeks with her fingers, “I can’t” she told him honestly, “Please-” he continued to plead between loud sobs. “I’m going to die” he choked, trying to make her understand, “My chest” he continued to try and explain. She shook her head gently, “You’re going to be alright” she soothed, stroking his hair- “You should feel better soon” she was thinking of the pills, hoping they’d still have a notable effect on his condition , he cried a little louder, his hands where up under her shirt, his nails scratching at her skin, “Come on” she said, “Come here” she wrapped herself around him, bringing him as close against her body as she could. Sherlock didn’t fight her, just folded hopelessly into her embrace. “my skin” he choked, “please” Rose stroked his back, “I know” she promised, “I know it hurts” Sherlock gagged loudly, his eyes wide and panicked- “Breathe” Rose told him as more cold tears spilled down his cheeks. “I can’t” he hissed- He was blacking out now, unable to endure anymore physical pain - the way he was hyperventilating was only serving to speed up the process, “I don’t want to die” he whispered breathlessly, gasping to try and cling on to consciousness, Rose shook her head, “Look at me” she instructed firmly, he tried- “at me” she insisted, increasing the pressure of her fingers on his temples. “Good” she praised when Sherlock finally obeyed, using the last of his energy to locate the source of her voice- “Breathe, with me” she stroked his hair as a reward, “You are going to be fine” she swore. “It hurts- I know it hurts- and I’m sorry I can’t make it stop- but you are not going to die” Sherlock was trying his best to listen to her, to anchor himself with it to avoid the darkness that was creeping into the edges of his vision, “I promise” she cooed, “I can’t take this” Sherlock wept, Rose hushed him, letting his head fall limply against her chest, she moved protectively around his core, watching as his body slowly started to release some of the tension it had been holding on to. “I can’t” he whimpered when the tightness in his limbs started to subside- “I can’t” he repeated, like it was the only phrase his brain could offer. Rose just stroked the nape of his neck, trying her best to release the pressure in his head- “it should get better soon” she swore, the medication was already taking effect, Sherlock could feel the difference, he could feel the stiffness in his body easing just enough for him to remember the itching on his skin- “Don’t scratch” she murmured, pulling his hands away from his own arms, he fought against her grip, but quickly found that he didn’t have the strength to prevent her from manoeuvring him. “I know” she repeated with more sympathy now. He shivered lamely, “I have to” he tried to implore her, “Please, Rose” his voice was nothing more than a shaking whisper- “Please” he continued to beg when she didn’t respond. Rose watched him carefully, maintaining the hold she had on his hands. “Please let go” he sobbed, she moved carefully, crossing his arms over his front to push his palms flat against his back, the adjustment allowed her to hold him again. It didn’t take long for Sherlock to surrender to the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to claw at his body, he settled instead for digging his nails down into his skin, the piercing discomfort was almost pleasant, though it was nothing compared to the gentle circles Rose was stroking down his spine. Whenever he would sniffle, or whimper, or try to struggle out from his position, she would increase the pressure she was applying and murmur a kind promise of his ability to survive the night. “Sleep now sweetheart” she exhaled when Sherlock had managed to stifle his cries. He looked up at the use of her pet name, she met his eyes with a smile, “What, you like that?” she checked, already certain from his reaction that he did, he gave her a defeated nod. He didn’t want to be Sherlock Holmes anymore. Sherlock Holmes was hurting. Rose gave him a soft chuckle then, and he felt his eyes drop shut. 

The period of rest Sherlock was granted was short and unsettled, he woke sporadically to either throw up or try and tear at his chest, or his arms, or his neck- Rose would wake then, too, to either clean up him, or hold his hands away from his skin until she could try and soothe him back to sleep. “P-please” he stammered, “I-Ican’t-do-this-an-anymore” his whole body was vibrating, Rose looked at him closely watching tears spill down his face, “you can” she countered softly, her tone apologetic. “I-can’t” he argued, his hands where pinned against his front, trapped between her chest, his nails were scraping against the hollow of throat. Rose used her fingers to try and force him to stop the motion- “it burns” he whimpered, “it-it-” she hushed him, glancing at the clock on the wall. 0500. “Okay” she soothed, “Okay, let’s try something else” Sherlock looked at her in desperation, “Up we get” she murmured, shifting her position. He wailed in despair as she helped him to his feet- it felt strangely like every bone in body was simultaneously broken and re-breaking as he stood upright and let her assist him in his first few steps- “I know” she assured him, “I’m sorry” she apologised as she half carried him to the bathroom, “but you can’t keep scratching like that- you’re going to hurt yourself” Sherlock didn’t think it was possible for him to be in anymore pain than he already was- “Come on” she murmured as she closed the door behind them, sealing them in the small room, “wh-what?” Sherlock tried to question, his brain was struggling to comprehend the purpose of their relocation. Rose ignored him as she turned the tap above the bath on, she made it a shade cooler than normal before looking back at Sherlock. “h-he-help me” he choked, his arms coming up to cradle himself as he cried, Rose walked over to him, bringing her own hands up over his. Sherlock collapsed against her the second that she touched him, he shuddered, folding down onto his knees, his back against the wall, she mirrored his position, keeping him in her embrace until he hid his face in his legs; “we can go back to bed” she told him, “or you can try this” she nodded over to the quickly filling tub. She worried that Sherlock hadn’t heard her until he looked up, his lower lip pouting, “I-I’m-I-” he stuttered, trying to form a coherent thought, I want it to stop.“I-ccan’t-on-onmyown” he gasped between sobs, hoping that she’d understand. She nodded calmly, stroking his hair in a way that made Sherlock want to whimper out an embarrassing and never-ending stream of thanks. He felt his chest heave when she broke away to stop the flow of water and assess the temperature. “Okay” she decided with a sigh, returning her attention to Sherlock, “want to give it a go?” he nodded, trying to inhale deeply as she once again helped him to his feet. Sherlock managed to discard his own bottoms, stepping out of them unsteadily before practically falling into the bath. “Good” she praised, keeping her hand on his back until she was sure he was stable enough to not slip completely under the water. “Just, breathe, Sherlock, you’re alright” she reminded him as he shivered, his body was adjusting to the temperature change quickly, the water was warm, but a shade colder than he would have expected, it served to overstimulate his nerves all the same, offering him a blessed break from the intense need to scratch it. He let out a whimper of relief, looking up to see her smiling down, he could feel her hand behind his neck, holding it steady, “Good?” she checked quietly, Sherlock nodded as firmly as he could manage, letting his ears ring with the sudden lack of noise- his own weeping had been almost constant for hours, and now that he was able to be quiet his head was almost fizzing. She hummed in approval, before bringing her other hand over to clean his face. “Good” she affirmed, settling back on her haunches, letting him just, be still.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> extra long one, merry christmas

Sherlock stayed in the bath for two hours before his teeth started chattering, Rose had done her best to keep the water warm enough, but there was a limit on what she could do and despite her efforts, they were eventually forced to return to his bedroom. She dried and redressed him silently, pleased when he only let out a few muted grunts of pain on the journey back to bed. “ _There_ ” she sighed when Sherlock was once again curled up against her chest. His breathing was still laboured, but less so than before, his skin was cold, but he was holding her body as opposed to his own now, she let him run his nails across the bruised skin of her back without complaint, knowing it was a involuntary action more than anything else, “ _Good job_ ” she praised as he looked up her, his lashes casting dark shadows across the deep navy halos that had formed under his bloodshot eyes. “ _I-I-I_ ” she rubbed his back affectionately as he fought to piece words together, “ _I-I’mtired_ ” he told her honestly, she hummed in acknowledgement, she knew he meant it in more than just the usual sense of needing rest- he was utterly deprived of any kind of energy. “ _Sleep_ ” she cooed softly, maintaining the large circles she was drawing on his skin. “ _icant_ ” he countered quickly, she looked at him in questioning, “try?” she suggested, he blinked, a little frantic, “ _myhead_ ” he tried to tell her, “ _i’mafraid_ -” “I know” she hushed him quickly, not wanting him to get worked up, _every time I close my eyes, I wake up on fire,_ he thought grimly, _or maybe I just wont wake up at all._ Sherlock sniffled, trying not to let his mind wonder, he tried to focus on the feel of Rose’s fingers, on the heat from her body on his chest, but it wasn’t long until he was once again crying quietly against her- _it felt different than the time before though_ , Sherlock thought it was less driven by pain now- he was still uncomfortable, his muscles were beginning to tighten again, the familiar ache was returning rapidly, and his skin was threatening to reignite with every shallow breath he took- but these tears seemed to be a much more direct result of his _emotional_ fatigue. “I know” Rose assured him as he began to hyperventilate, “Focus on me” she told him, “can you hear me?” she checked, he gave her a meagre nod, he just _couldn’t stop_ sobbing- “Give me a colour” she instructed suddenly, Sherlock flashed back to the room in Hampstead- _To_ _the hand through the door that he was pushing against because his life depended on it, to the soft voice he had been sure was a hallucination, “Give me a colour” it had said,_ “Blue” he choked, back with Rose now. She pecked a kiss on his head as a reward. “a square number?” she requested next, “ _9_ ” he hissed, another kiss. “Chemical compound of aspirin?” there was a longer pause this time as Sherlock wrecked his brain for the answer, “Acetoxybenzoic acid?” he replied unsure, “ _or?_ ” she countered, “Acetylaslicylic Acid?” he offered still uncertain, “Good” she praised, _kiss_ , “another colour?” she pressed, noting the way his breathing was becoming less strained, “Yellow” he said, she hummed considerately, “non primary” she altered, “ _Purple_ ” he whispered instantly, “ _please_ ” he murmured when she didn’t bring her lips back to his head, “ _please?_ ” he repeated, she raised a brow at him before chuckling silently and pecking down on his brow, “ _You’re doing good_ ” she promised, “Chemical compound of water?” “ _Oxidane_ ” he replied, _kiss_. “John’s middle name?” she softened her tone, watching as Sherlock’s eyes closed, “Hamish” he said, his voice a little quieter, _kiss_. “Square root of 81?” she pressed, “ _9_ ” Sherlock exhaled, _kiss_. “182 x 91?” his eye lids gave a gentle flicker, “ _16562_ ” he slurred after a pause. _kiss_. Rose continued to ask him mundane questions for another thirty minutes until he fell asleep and stopped replying, his body finally giving up with sheer exhaustion. 

 

“ _Just-have them let themselves in_ ” Rose murmured into her phone, it was pressed against her ear, “Yeah, Okay, are you sure?” John checked, “Yes, John, I’m sure” she promised, looking down at where Sherlock was still sleeping against her chest, she tried to keep her voice down, “Ask them to be quiet, though, please” she added, “He’s had a long night” she felt her hand stroking his back, “ _so have you-_ ” John muttered, uncomfortable with the way the woman was neglecting her own position, she didn’t respond, “- _Okay_ , I’ll call Lestrade now, ask him to get on with it-” Rose nodded, forgetting there was nobody to see the gesture- “Thank you” she sighed, letting her eyes shut as John bid her goodbye. The detective inspector arrived at the flat an hour later and let himself in with a key she assumed he’d been given by John. Sherlock was restless by then, but still unconscious and relatively placid against her, so she didn’t risk moving to greet them. As she heard Lestrade give out his instructions she was glad she hadn’t gone to Mycroft- he was definitely more _sensitive_ to the situation. “ _Okay guys_ ” she heard Greg cough, Rose strained to hear his speech through the walls,“ _…Let’s get this done …. six bags to find…. a list of areas ….all be given… get started… nobody is to go near that room…do you understand?… no exceptions…_ ” she let her eyes closed as the rustle of movement begun, it wasn’t long before Sherlock began to stir, she curled around him, trying to comfort him back to sleep, but once he blinked, blue eyes opening to focus on her face she knew there was no point. He didn’t speak initially, just looked around as he came back to his senses. “Okay?” Rose asked quietly, he didn’t look sure, “ _I suppose_ ” he murmured unhappily after a few minutes, she nodded calmly, letting him flex his arms around her, he didn’t pull away, in fact, it seemed an awful lot like he was trying to get impossibly closer into her embrace. “what hurts?” she clarified, his hair tickling her neck, “everything” he whispered, she nodded again, “better than yesterday” she said, it wasn’t a question, she could tell his condition was a significant improvement from the night before. Sherlock didn’t refute her comment, but he didn’t move. Even when he heard the chatter from outside his door. John was out. Mycroft wouldn’t come until at least day three. Lestrade. _Oh_. “It’s alright” she promised him, knowing he was aware of what was happening. “It’s just Greg” she told him, he looked up in confusion, she rolled her eyes, “ _Lestrade_ , Sherlock, his name is Greg- _You know his name is Greg_ ” her tone was scolding but it was tempered with a smile. Sherlock quickly decided that her current expression was his new favourite. She was wearing a lopsided smirk that was patient and jovial, but her eyes, although clearly unrested where shining with affection. He could have cried from that. But he didn’t. He’d done enough of that the day before. Rose looked at him, questioning the way he was staring at her, but she didn’t say anything to the detective, just let him do whatever it was he was doing before he settled back down into the crook of her neck. “Hungry?” she asked after a spell of silence. Sherlock didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to risk doing anything to increase the rising tension in his limbs. “Sherlock?” she cooed, stroking his hair to see if he was still awake. He met her gaze unhappily, she gave a little chuckle at that, “ _Could_ you eat?” she altered her previous question. He knew he had to keep something down eventually. “I don’t know” he told her honestly. His throat hurt, he realised, along with the rest of him. “I’ll go make some tea” she said, giving him a gentle scratch on the base of his neck. “I’ll bring some toast” she added as she untangled their limbs, “Do you think you can make it to the bathroom?” He didn’t know that either. This was foreign, usually at this stage of his coming round he was still curled up in a ball screaming into his own arms. “I don’t know” he repeated, feeling oddly useless. “would you like me to help you?” she offered, she was standing now, Sherlock tested movement, rolling onto his side, he felt the pressure shift in his sinuses and shut his eyes. It felt a lot like the worst case of the flu he could imagine. He took a minute to adjust before sitting, his legs hanging over the bed. “I’ve got it” he muttered, it was painful- but almost bearable. “Okay” she agreed, shooting him a cautious glance before she left the room herself. 

 

“ _Oh hello_ ” Anderson teased, Rose rolled her eyes, pacing straight past him, “ _and what were you doing in the chamber of secrets?_ ” he continued to tease as Lestrade waved at her distractedly, “We were having rampant sexual intercourse Anderson” Sherlock’s voice mocked, Rose felt herself spit out a laugh. The tall man was shirtless, and shaking, but he still gave the police man a disapproving glare as he struggled to walk independently into the bathroom. “ _Should we let him go in there on his own?_ ” Anderson chided, looking at the detective inspector with a smirk. Greg didn’t return it, “Enough!” he barked, “Back to it” he clapped his hands. “Sexual intercourse?” John’s voice surprised her from the kitchen. “ _Shit_ ” she laughed, it had been a long time since John had caught her off guard, “what happened to Suzie?” she asked, squinting suspiciously as the doctor wrapped his arms around her. “I came back to change” he answered honestly. He was holding a newspaper, and he’d definitely just come back from the clinic, so she hummed in agreement, breaking away from his embrace to fill the kettle and load the toaster. “How’s it going?” she asked, looking around at the discord of the living room. “Four down” he answered, nodding over to the pile of bags on the table. She hummed, “He’s up” she stated, “Could ask him to _you know,_ speed up the process” John shifted a little uneasily, not wanting to push it. “Or not” she offered with a smile. “We’ll manage” he said. She nodded absentmindedly, picking up a note pad and pencil from the sideboard. _Sherlock’s fine- Clean- Being looked after- Don’t worry. Rose x._ She scribbled her message quickly, before rummaging around in the now disorganised draws for an envelope. She addressed it quickly before handing it to John. “Send it please, stamps are somewhere over their” she nodded towards Sherlock’s desk, which as now in utter disarray. “ _Eurus_?” John blinked in disbelief. “You’re writing to her now?” he sounded almost irritated. She gave him a nod, pouring milk into the mug, she added a teabag when he gave an exasperated groan. “Why on earth would you want to do that?” she rolled her eyes, slipping the dry toast onto a plate. “ _She’s worried_ ” Rose shrugged. “No harm in offering her an update” John didn’t know what to say. He was utterly gobsmacked. “If I asked you how you knew that she was worried, or any emotion at all for that matter, would I get a bloody answer?” Rose chuckled, kissing his cheek, “not one you’d understand” she told him honestly. He looked briefly like he was going to put up a fight, but he slipped the message into his pocket. “ _Rose_ ” a strangled voice called out. She tilted her head, “ _Rose?_ ” it repeated as everyone stopped moving to listen- She raised her hand to offset the alarm that was spreading through the people in her flat. “Coming” she answered with a sigh, Rose moved quickly, dropping off the food and drink on Sherlock’s nightstand before knocking on the bathroom door. It swung open easily. “ _Hello_ ” she murmured, looking at where he was sitting on the ground, his body against the bath, his head hanging back lamely to look up at her. “Rampant, huh?” she joked, coming over to push her hand against his brow. _37.1?_ “Well let’s not rule it out” he muttered, his tone teasing if a little breathless. She snorted. “As your primary care physician I would advise against any unnecessary physical exertion” she was sitting beside him now. “ _though-_ ” she added with a roll of her eyes, “I would have also advised against the recreational use of Heroin, if you’d asked.” Sherlock let out a defeated laugh, looking at her unhappily. “Dopamine?” she offered, still smiling fondly. He gave a meagre nod. “please” his voice losing a lot of the false bravery it had held just moments before. “Up you get then” she exhaled, holding his hands to pull him to his feet. He hissed in a pained breath, gripping her waist as she helped to walk him through the door. Neither of them noticed if anyone watched them as they wondered back to his bedroom, Sherlock was too preoccupied with not letting himself make any audible admission of his overwhelming discomfort and Rose was too busy practically carrying all six foot of consulting detective single handedly. As soon as the door closed behind them Sherlock’s demeanour shifted, he let a whimper escape his lips as she lowered him back to his bed. “Take it easy” she instructed, watching him trying to alter his position, he grumbled but obeyed, staying relatively still until she joined him on the soft surface, bringing the plate of toast between them. It was unbuttered and unappealing, but still Sherlock brought it up to his mouth, forcing himself to eat as much as he could manage, which was approximately a bite and a half. Rose watched him with concern. “Tea?” she offered once he’d discarded over half of his breakfast. Sherlock shook his head. He could feel bile rising in his throat. “ _Please?_ ” she pressed, bringing the mug up to his hand. “You need to have something” _I can’t._ He shook his head. “Sherlock” she sighed, “ _I-_ ” he tried to explain, his body giving a tremor, “Try?” she asked, “I can’t!” he exclaimed sadly, his hand twitching violently as he tried to take the cup from her, the angle was wrong and he knocked the porcelain object clean out of her grip, and watched it smash on the floor beside his bed. “ _I can’t_ ” he hissed, breathing quickly now, panic setting in. “ _I didn’t mean to_ ” he choked, “ _I’m sorry_ ” he looked at her desperately. She was already stood, walking towards the broken object, “ _Please_ ” he hissed, _“I’m sorry_ ” he repeated, his tone urgent. _Don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m trying. Don’t go. “Don’t go”_ he whispered, Rose looked at him then, shaking her head. “I’m just going to clean this up and get you some water” she assured him, “Alright?” he nodded, panting now as he fought against the urge to cry. _She’s coming back. She’s coming back. She’s coming back._ It became almost a chant as Rose ducked in and out of his room, wiping the spill and discarding of the fragments of china. Eventually she returned with a plastic water bottle, climbing back up to her spot beside him silently, she looked at him calmly before bringing her arm around his shoulders- Sherlock followed the pressure, curling up with his head in her lap. She stroked his skin kindly, “ _I didn’t mean to_ ” he muttered, “I know” she assured him, “- _I just-couldn’t-I-Ican’t-_ ” he continued to plead. _Don’t tell Mycroft. I’m trying my best. I can’t help it-_ He shivered, he hadn’t meant to lash out, he hadn’t meant to break anything- She shook her head again, looking at him like he was overreacting, “ _Sherlock-_ ” she said, “-It’s alright, It’s okay, it was an accident, calm down _._ ” he tried to believe her assurances, he tried to cling onto the softness behind her tone to remind himself that there was no need for his anxiety, but he found it was increasingly difficult for him to remain reasonable, especially with the ache worsening in his head. “I’m here” she cooed, “I’m staying, it’s alright” she promised, assuming the way he was clawing at her legs was his attempt at making her stay in her position- “You’re okay” she told him, “You’re doing good-” “ _W-why_?” he stuttered lamely, suddenly needing to ask, “ _Wh-why are you being so kind?_ ” he clarified, unsure of if he even wanted her answer. _Pity, seemed like his best guess_. “Because you’re my friend” she replied instead. “No I’m not-” he choked, “ _We’re not-_ _We’re not friends_.” Sherlock countered before he could think about how it might sound. He looked up and saw something flicker behind her eyes and knew he’d made a mistake, he hadn’t meant it like that. “ _Fr-Freinds don’t do this_ ” he mumbled, trying to explain, his nails digging sourly into the skin on her legs. She smiled then, making a short sound of consideration in the base of her throat, Rose was looking down at their embrace, with what almost seemed like curiosity- Sherlock blinked at her expression, desperate to take his earlier comment back; John was his friend, his _best_ , friend, and the idea of him so much as touching his arms made his skin crawl. _He hated the idea of him seeing him like this-_ but, he’d never felt that way with her- Rose had never _just_ been his friend. “ _No_ ” she finally hummed in agreement, “ _I guess they don’t_ ” her tone let him know that his earlier comment was either forgiven or forgotten, “ _I-_ I suppose that makes us _more?_ ” Sherlock asked anxiously, he felt his core tighten in anticipation of some kind of rejection. “I suppose it does.” Rose agreed, her hand wrapping around to press on the base of his neck- She increased the pressure that she was putting on his skin and felt him nod against her, his cheeks rubbing against her legs. Sherlock had always had different feelings where Rose was concerned, wether it was a strange flare of protectiveness, a bizarre desire to watch her work, or even the need to steal a lingering glance at the curve of her body. _She understood him,_ he’d realised that very quickly once they’d been introduced, his fondness for his brothers only friend had blossomed over the months they’d shared a flat, and now he realised that he was quite frankly, _terrified_ that she’d leave as soon as she got chance-“ _Stop_ ” she instructed softly, moving his hands away from where they’d moved to his own chest, he hadn’t realised he’d been scratching, leaving deep red marks on his skin, he let her pull his arms down, back to her body- “ _you’re okay_ ” she cooed, “ _let it pass_ ” he tried to obey her, pretending that the tensing of his muscles was the sole reason behind his growing discontent- he listened to her breathing and took deep breaths through his nose. “Good” she praised, “ _in_ and _out_ ” she exaggerated her own breathing pattern, “like that” Rose said with a tone of approval as he followed her instructions, “ _Thank you_ ” he murmured when he found himself able to speak, she rolled her eyes, but didn’t refute his words, she did however reward him with a small scratch on the back of his head, her short nails blissfully grazing the skin beneath his hair, he made a noise that sounded strangely like a purr but to his surprise, she didn’t tease him, just continued with the action until he next started to whimper. They repeated this routine for around 30 minutes, Rose stayed still listening to the bustle of activity outside as Sherlock drifted in and out of states of varying pain driven distraction, she tangled her fingers through his hair as he shivered, and muttered sweet assurances until he next seemed to relax, he was still uncomfortable, but she did realise that he seemed to be more content during the breaks he was granted than he had been the night before, “You should drink some water” she said calmly as the loud noise of a door swinging shut rattled in from outside. Sherlock didn’t respond, so she looked at her phone expectantly, and was met with a quick vibration- _‘All Done. Will post letter 1st class- shall I bring dinner? fish and chips. J x’_ she smiled at the object before looking back down at Sherlock, he hadn’t moved from her lap. “John wants to know if he should bring dinner back” she told him, moving to run a hand down his bare arm, Sherlock shivered in response to her fingers trailing across his skin. “ _is-is that all he said?_ ” he whimpered, already knowing the answer- _it was all gone_. “No” she told him honestly, he felt a layer of hope shatter from somewhere in his gut- “I wrote your sister a letter- he’s posting it for me.” she told him, it seemed to work as a distraction as Sherlock looked up, curiosity shining in his tired eyes, “Mycroft said he wouldn’t have time to speak to her” she explained, “I didn’t want her worrying” he didn’t say anything, but Rose felt him kiss down on her skin. _New._ she swallowed a chuckle, looking at him with affection, “did they find it all?” he asked after a pause, his voice sounded small- all pretence of bravado long discarded- “ _nine?_ ” she checked with a sigh, _yes_. He gave her a nod, trying not to look as distraught as he felt. She gave him as much of a hug as their position would allow. “ _It’s alright_ ” she promised him, he didn’t feel like it was alright at all. “ _Water_ ” she insisted suddenly, her tone was a little firmer now, Sherlock was glad of the change in subject, so he allowed her to help him sit upright as he brought the bottle to his lips. He only split a small amount of the liquid down his front, and she dried it quickly, not letting him have time to feel badly about it- “good” she complimented when he eventually dropped the empty container to the floor beside his bed, “ _enough?_ ” he asked, almost pleading, _don’t make me eat anymore._ Rose could see his eyes flicking uneasily towards the remains of the toast. She gave him a smile. “for now” she agreed, “I’ll tell John to bring some chips back tonight, we’ll see if you can manage a few of those” he looked up at her sadly, “ _and_ _if I can’t?_ ” he whispered, a humiliating memory of himself throwing up the contents of his stomach over coming him for a moment, she reached up to push his dark hair away from his eyes, “then we’ll try again tomorrow” Rose told him kindly, he gave a meagre nod as she typed her message on her mobile,“Try and sleep” she cooed quietly, Sherlock trembled sadly, managing to move himself back down into her arms, she let out a quiet laugh but held him nonetheless. The _whilst you can_ in her instruction had been implied- Sherlock’s pain still seemed to come and go, peaking suddenly and then fading when his body couldn’t physically endure any more discomfort, there was no telling how long this period of relief would last- Sherlock gave up and he let himself moan in response to the heat of her hands on his spine, she hushed him gently, applying more pressure as she drew large circles on the skin of his back, “ _Rest_ ” she insisted, her tone soft, “ _trying_ ” he murmured, gripping hold of her skin as he closed his eyes. Rose hummed in agreement, her hands slowing to a stop, “please” he whispered despite himself, “ _it-ithelps_ ” he shifted a little, trying to gain some kind of stimuli against his nerves, she understood, giving him a silent nod as she resumed the motion, he let out a light whimper as he tried to focus on the sound of his own breathing, urging it to lull him into something that could pass for sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!


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